Cult of the Miraculous
by apfelpomme
Summary: A shady organization offering unbelievable abilities surfaces in Paris. A desperate Marinette becomes entangled in its secrets. All the while under the watchful eye of one of its highest-ranking members, the enigmatic Chat Noir. Slowburn Marichat. Dark!AU
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own miraculous ladybug or any of the characters. In this AU, Marinette's mother is gravely ill, and she does not have the ladybug miraculous. Both she and Adrian are 18, and in their last year of high school. Everything else you'll just have to find out as the story goes on :) First fanfiction. Comments and critiques welcome.

Countless things have been said about nighttime in Paris. _Romantic_. Even alone on her balcony Marinette feels something wistful in the air. A certain romance from the moon, perhaps, or the thousands of shimmering lights signaling the movement and activity of people bustling around the city. _Busy. That's another valid one_ , she ponders, leaning against the railing. Though tonight the busyness only serves to make her own corner of the night cozy by comparison.

She languidly registers the passing sound of police sirens in the distance. _Dangerous_. The word comes to mind uninvited, unwelcome. _That can't be right_ , she thinks _. At least up here. Nothing can bother me up here._ Late at night, in solitude, it's her little escape. _Too little_ , she thinks wearily. _Maybe nighttime is dangerous because you want too much of it_. Unbidden, the phrases, "Burning the candle at both ends" and "Burning the midnight oil" make rounds through her head. _No, not burning_. She frowns slightly. _This time is restorative_. _Soothing_. Time to simply think and be. Though as much as she tries, it never fully prepares her for another day. _But, to be fair,_ she reasoned with herself, _how could anything prepare you for another day of watching your mom inch closer to death?_ She winces and scolds herself mentally. _I must be tired. Daytime Marinette would have never said the forbidden word. Er, rather, thought it. Still. Shouldn't think about it. No more death. Darn! Thought it again._ She closes her eyes and tries to clear her head.

Her reverie is broken by a fluttery, sweeping noise traversing her balcony. She blinks. Did another bird fly into her window? She hopes not. She doesn't have enough time, or empty shoeboxes, for another bird funeral. She turns around to investigate, seeing a patch of red shifting erratically on the corner floor of her balcony. She takes a few steps forward gingerly. _Oh_ , she sighs. Her pose relaxes. _It's just another piece of litter getting tossed around in the wind. Looks a bit thicker than the standard fare of fliers and plastic bags, though._ Curious, she bends over and picks it up. Her fingers slide over the glossy, blood red pamphlet. On the cover in bold script it reads:

 **If there are answers, will you discover them?**

 **If you have wishes, will you chase them?**

 **If you have potential, will you find it within yourself?**

 **Cultivate power beyond imagining.**

 **Manifest your will.**

 **On our own, we are blind.**

 **Enlightened, empowered, we become Miraculous.**

Brought to you by The Creators of the Miraculous

Bewildered, she tries to put together of what she's seeing. _If this is an advertisement, it doesn't make any sense. There isn't even any contact information here. No real information at all, really. Just…_ she trails off. There's a promise. A whisper of something. She gets goosebumps beneath her pajamas, suddenly cold from the wind. She hugs herself slightly. On the back, details of a seminar hosted at an address she doesn't recognize dated last week. _Silly Mari,_ she chides herself. _It's just a scam. Some conman talking big trying to swindle desperate people out of money._ Even so, her mind takes to picturing it. Having knowledge, control, _power_. When she was younger she may have wanted those things for the sake of it. But now…she closes her eyes again.

She allows herself to slip into familiar fantasies. She's at her mother's bedside, not sad this time because she's done it! The cure is in her hand, a glowing pink vial. Who knew she would've been the one to discover it. Under her nose the whole time, a recipe in an old, forgotten family journal…or…she's kneeling in a cathedral. Surrounded by the smell of candles and the low hum of hymns. She is praying, then begging. She makes a deal. Anything, anything for her mother. She comes home distraught, and as she kisses her mother's forehead for the last time. A single tear rolls from her cheek onto her mother's closed eyelids. But, they open! Sabine jumps out of bed and they hug, singing praises and hallelujahs. Or—her favorite one—she's special. Magical, even. She finds out one day soon, it doesn't matter how. She saves her family. All families. A hero! Singlehandedly she heals her mother and all of Paris. With her thoughts. With a spell. With anything-

Marinette shakes her head as if trying to dislodge the childish thoughts. She's had similar hopes before. It can only end in more disappointment. Her gaze unconsciously shifts in the direction of the bakery as she recalls the early days of her mother's illness.

In the beginning it had been a challenge. A mountain to summit. Her family would pull together and conquer this sickness no matter the odds. Ever the optimist, Marinette had believed with all her heart the situation would be temporary. Fixable. Such was her attitude when her mom's uncle arrived from China.

Wang Cheng was to assist in cooking meals and keeping the bedridden Sabine company while her husband ran the bakery and her daughter attended high school. However, Wang aspired to much more. He hoped to succeed where Western medicine had failed. He would heal his niece with his knowledge of Zhōngyī, traditional Chinese medicine. A few days after his arrival he shared his ambitions with Tom and Marinette. Tom had his reservations, but would ultimately respect his wife's wishes in regards to treatment. In contrast, the blunette latched onto his ideas with fervor. She began doing anything she could to help-spending evenings mixing herbal decoctions, sneaking away from school lunch to pick up dried seahorse or ginseng root from the market, even reading books about qi and acupuncture in class.

Marinette grit her teeth against the memories as they bubbled up.

"So..." Alya drawled as she peered over her best friend's shoulder. "You're into reading now. Do tell! What could be more interesting than hearing Ms. Mendeleiev third lecture on thermodynamics?"

"Oh. That's-" Marinette paused and stumbled a bit to explain her sudden interest in a rather obscure subject. "It's actually...you see my great-uncle is visiting. From China. For...a visit. He's been tutoring me in local folk medicines."

"Huh. Good for you, girl. Getting in touch with your roots." Alya looked at her with slightly appraising eyes and then took on a conspiratorial tone: "But, word to the wise, you should quit reading during lecture before Ms. Mendeleiev gives you detention."

"Oh!" Marinette straightened and giggled nervously as she took note of the teacher's accusatory stare in her direction. She snapped her book shut and hid it away just as the bell began to ring. "Well, I've got to go. Bakery business. It's, uh, urgent." Alya watched her hurriedly pack her things and rush to the doorway. "Goodbye, Alya. Bye Nino." She blushed slightly and nodded towards them. "You-you too Adrien. Have a good bye. I mean a good day. I mean-"

"We get it girl," Alya smiled knowingly at her friend. "Good luck with that urgent bakery business. See ya!"

Marinette darted out of the classroom. She clutched her backpack against her chest and sped out of the school, sickened by herself and unable to face her classmates. She had never been a good liar. She had never wanted to be. But now she was lying to her best friend. _It wasn't really lying_ , she reasoned. She was only withholding something. She didn't want her friends to know about her mother's sickness because it's only temporary. She didn't want to make a big deal out of it. Didn't want to become the object of people's pity. And deep down, didn't want to acknowledge the graveness of the illness by sharing the details with others. So, Marinette left her friends in the dark. She didn't imagine she'd have to keep up the act for long. Just until her mom got better. Won't be long now, she thought to herself, and it'll be like none of this ever happened. The thought comforted her. But it didn't stop the feeling of guilt from pooling in her stomach.

She took deep, calming breaths as she walked home. By the time she crossed through the bakery doors she had started to feel like herself again. This sense of normality lasted for all of five minutes before she saw packed suitcases resting against the wall next to the counter. Next to them, a very tired looking man.

"Uncle Wang, what is this? What's happening?" Marinette questioned, tone still light. Maybe the bags were someone else's. A customer's, perhaps. But his eyes said it all.

"Marinette...I failed. All my methods all my treatments-nothing. Worse than nothing. Sabine-" he started, looking down at his shoes, "She's getting worse." He eventually turned his gaze up to the young woman's face, taking in her shell-shocked expression. "There's nothing more I can do. Maybe nothing more anyone can do. I'm leaving."

There were a thousand things Marinette wish she had said in that instant. _How could you give up so quickly? How could you leave us in our time of need? Are you so ashamed of your own inability you'd abandon your family?_ But instead she silently watched as he somberly collected his things and walked out. Her feet were glued to the floor as she numbly stared at the now empty doorway. One month. One measly month was all he could give before running away. She shook her head, aghast. There would be no running away for her. This was her life now. Her mother... wasn't getting better. The reality of it struck her hard, bringing her to her knees as sobs began to escape her. _There's nothing more I can do. Maybe nothing more anyone can do._ His words echoed in her mind. She could feel all her hope slipping from her, as tangible as her tears as they flooded down her face.

Marinette wasn't sure how long she had spent in that state, but her eyes were swollen and her legs nearly asleep when she heard the door chime, alerting a new presence in the bakery. It was her father that walked in. Tom's face was etched with grief, even so he didn't hesitate to rush over to console her. He put a large hand on her shoulder and helped her up, pulling her into a hug.

"Where's mom?" Marinette pulled away and questioned timidly, afraid of the answers. "How is she?"

"The hospital," Tom replied, and rushed to finish the thought at his daughter's worried gasp, "And she's fine. Relatively speaking, of course. There was a flare up of her symptoms. The doctors are monitoring her just to be safe. She'll be back soon."

 _She's okay. Thank God. And back soon. But will we be ready for her return?_ Marinette reflected in silence. It was just the two of them now. She still had a year before graduating and her dad still had the bakery.

"Dad…what are we going to do?"

"What we must, sweetie. Whatever we have to, we'll do."

The next couple months they did just that, making necessary sacrifices to give Sabine the care she needed. Tom spent all his time either working or being her nurse. Marinette still went to school—her parents insisted that she finish no matter what—but her free time was quickly taken over by hours in the bakery and household duties. In the end she had no time left over for herself. Or her friends. _Lying to them_ and _ignoring them, I'm an awful friend,_ she admonished herself. She still spent time with Alya at school, but the redhead was quick to pick up on her shoddily explained change in behavior and priorities. Even so, the bluenette refused to risk injuring her best friend further by revealing her deception. _A problem for later_ , she had sighed.

The memories fade, leaving her even more drained than before. Her balcony feels less of an escape now. No longer does she have any desire to just think and be. She walks inside and collapses into her bed, finally letting sleep take her.

The next morning Marinette woke feeling refreshed. Her attitude borderline giddy as she walks to school. A passerby might think she just got good news, or mistake her for a morning person. _Nothing like that_ , she smiled. Alya would laugh herself to tears if anyone called her friend of all people a "morning person". No, Marinette's dreamy demeanor is only caused by one thing, rather, a person: Adrien Agreste. Or in this case, a dream about him. She can't recall much about the contents of the dream, only feelings. _Wonderful feelings. Him, and her. Close. Physically and emotionally._ She saw her own affections reflected in his eyes as they sat together in a field of swaying grass. The young woman may as well have been floating to school on a cartoon cloud of hearts. Unfortunately, despite how she feels she is not in fact floating, and her feet catch, tripping her on the threshold of the door into the school. She lands with a "oof" and quickly picks herself up, looking around to see if anyone saw her. If _he_ saw her. She blushes in embarrassment, dusting herself off and stepping out of the entryway. She meets the eyes of Alya, standing adjacent to their lockers. Marinette grins sheepishly and walks, carefully, towards her friend.

"For your sake, I'll pretend I didn't see that," Alya greets, smirking, one hand on her hip. "And lucky for you, Adrien and Chloe didn't see it either. Neither's here yet. But before we forget about the whole thing—you're here early?! And acting like a space cadet?" The redhead raises her eyebrows, still smiling. "C'mon, dish, girl!" she urges emphatically.

Marinette giggles a bit at her own expense, holding her hands together behind her back. "Nothing's happened. Just…a dream is all. A good dream."

"Ahh. Now Mari, this wasn't any sort of…inappropriate dream, is it? About a certain blonde classmate?" Alya grins and strokes her chin mischievously.

"N-No! It wasn't—we just held hands! And—and talked!"

Alya laughed and explains, "I believe you. I'm just teasing. We can stop talking about it if you want." She notes her friend's blushing face nodding vigorously in response. "Haha, alright. If you say so. But while we're still talking dreams…" Alya pauses for a moment, suddenly animated with passion. "Girl, I did it! I found the story that's going to take me to the top and gotten an 'in'! No other journalist has even scratched the surface yet, it's perfect!" The other girl quickly caught the redhead's contagious excitement and brought Alya in for a hug.

"That's awesome, Alya. I'm so proud! What is it? What's the story?"

"A cult," Alya whispers excitedly, "The Cult of the Miraculous. They call themselves 'Creators' or something but it doesn't matter." Marinette's happy expression freezes. "They're new in Paris, maybe new to everywhere, but the founder wields crazy influence. Thing is, no one knows anything about it. Nothing except the phooey they spout at their occasional open seminars. No one even knows where their headquarters is, besides their members," Alya grins energetically, voice turning confident even while hushed. "Except me!" Marinette's eyes broaden as she takes in all the information. The pamphlet from last night…written by a cult? A secretive cult. With an influential leader. She gulps. What has Alya gotten herself into?

"Isn't that dangerous? And how did you even find this place if it's so secret? Oh…don't tell me, please, you didn't…did you stalk someone again?!" She looks to her friend, who's biting her lip and now holding her hands in the air in a faux surrender.

"Only a little. All good scoops are a bit dangerous. It's not stalking, it's _researching._ And a little bit of 'coincidental' following." Alya winks. "It's nothing you haven't done to Adrien."

Flustered, Marinette hurriedly considers which terrible thing to address first, and eventually asks, exasperated, "So what's your plan? You're just going to waltz into their secret lair, _uninvited_ , and ask nicely for answers?"

"I'm glad you asked. I happen to have an a-maz-ing plan. Trust me, girl, I've done my homework about these people. They get new members by 'scouting' them at those public seminars I mentioned. It happens rarely, from what I've heard, but I managed to catch them in the act. After their boring seminar got over with, they pulled some guy from the audience. Him and a rep from the organization spent over an hour in a blocked off room talking about who knows what. Then, finally, I saw them leave in a car with tinted windows. I trailed them. It took hours, they were obviously trying to throw people off their scent. But I was just too good," she brags slightly, blatantly proud of her accomplishment. "They ended up at a night club, some place called—"

"Wait, all that to find a nightclub? What if they're just going out for drinks?"

"Listen, Mari. I know my stuff. The place was obviously a front. As I was saying," Alya looks pointedly at her, giving her a playful scowl, "The nightclub is called La Plume du Paon.* We go there, we find the least drunk person in attendance, and tell them we know everything. They respect ambition, cunning. Sniffing them out means I've given them proof of it. Not to mention, we have the edge. If we threaten to reveal their hidden base, they'll have no choice to let us in."

"Or they'll have no choice but to kill us! Wait…us?"

"You're coming with me, of course!" Alya smiles brightly, then pouts a bit, exclaiming, "We haven't hung out in forever. Honestly, when was the last time we saw each other outside of school?" Marinette looks away, left hand clutching her elbow. Noticing the guilt oozing from her companion, Alya began again a bit more gently. "This is the perfect opportunity to have a girl's night out. Even if we don't find the Creators of the Miraculous, we'll be in a nightclub. You've been looking a bit stressed lately. I'm concerned. This way we can unwind, let loose. Have an adventure together!" Marinette's expression is still unsure. Deciding to pull out the big guns, Alya drawls, "If you truly believe they're that dangerous…are you really going to let me go alone?"

Thoroughly cornered by Alya's argument, Marinette sighed, "Of course not. I'll go. Who else is going to keep you from doing something crazy? But that doesn't mean I'm happy about it."

"Yes! Oh, this is going to be _so_ good. You won't regret it. I'll pick you up at 5. Wear something cute." The bell rings, alerting them to the beginning of classes. Over her shoulder, Alya reminds, "Don't forget: 5, tonight. Be ready!" Then she strides off towards her first class, leaving a dazed Marinette in her wake.

A/N: This story will occasionally deal with things such as spirituality, alternative medicine, western medicine, religion, cults (obviously :P), and other possibly sensitive topics. The reality portrayed in this AU is not meant to express my opinions or belittle anyone's beliefs. For the sake of the plot, the story assumes the only real mystical things are relating to Miraculouses. Also I know basically nothing about Chinese folk medicine so sorry if I butchered it!

*La Plume du Paon = The Peacock's Feather


	2. Chapter 2

I'm not ready, Marinette remarks woefully, glancing at her bedside clock. 4:57. She takes inventory of herself in her mirror. Physically, she's prepared, donning a white sundress. She figures it had enough lace to qualify as "cute" and fulfill Alya's instruction. She gave it a little twirl, smiling at her reflection despite herself. Her shoes are strappy flats, chosen with care to ensure if they needed to make a break for it, they won't hinder her movement. The sobering thought grounds her. For all Alya talked about fun and sisterhood for this outing, it really isn't about that. They were venturing into unknown territory. That was why she could never be fully ready. Too many uncertainties. Even Alya had become something of an unknown to her. Since when was her friend so eager to rush into risky matters like this? _Maybe since she lost her best friend_ , Marinette thinks grimly. She locks eyes with her reflection. _No_ , she shakes her head defiantly _. She hasn't lost me. I'm right here. And will keep being here for her_. She turns from the image of herself and navigates her room, collecting a few useful items and stuffing them into her purse. _Pepper spray. Could come in handy._ _Snacks, should I bring snacks?_

Her phone buzzes. _Alya._ "I'm on my way," she texts, "be down in a sec." She rushes down the steps, stopping briefly to hug her dad and Grandma Gina goodbye. That her Nonna happened to be here assisting her family on this day, granting her enough freedom from responsibility to hang out with Alya, was incredibly lucky. Or unlucky. She wasn't sure yet.

Alya reclines against her vehicle, feeling as comfortable in her tight orange tube dress as she does in her own skin. She drums her fingers on the hood. Her impatience nearly gets the best of her as she resolves to march into the bakery and grab her overdue friend. _I'm not sure why I expected that girl to be anything but late_ , she thinks, exasperated but affectionate. She instinctively moves to push up her nonexistent sleeves but is halted by Mari's appearance in the sidewalk. "Hey!" Alya greets warmly, "Hustle your bustle, sister, we've got a story to catch."

They settle into the tan cloth seats of Alya's old sedan. While the redhead rummages her purse for the keys, Marinette determines a heart-to-heart is in order. "Alya…you know I love you. I've missed you to death these past few months. But now we're here, together…do we have to do _this_?" she pleads, her bluebell eyes searching Alya's steely hazel ones for an ounce of the hesitation that she'd been grappling with all day. "You're an amazing journalist—you don't need to take risks like this to get ahead. Your talent speaks for itself." She hesitated when a glint of something flash in Alya's eyes. _Was that…resentment?_ It passed too briefly to be accounted for.

"I appreciate the kind words," Alya spoke in a nearly imperceptibly patronizing voice, "But as an aspiring designer, you of all people should know how competitive it gets out there. Unless…have you given up on that?"

"I—no, I haven't," Marinette stumbles out, blinking at her friend's unexpected hostility. _But it isn't unexpected, is it? I've neglected our relationship. I've hurt her,_ she realizes. "You've got a point, though. I've been neglecting my goals. I've been neglecting a lot, lately…" she began contritely, "There's no excuse for pushing something so important to the side like that. I regret it." She searched Alya's face for any recognition or acceptance of her pseudo-apology, but the other girl remains impassive as she watches the road, hands gripping the steering wheel firmly.

"If that's how you feel then I'm sure you can understand why I won't back down. This is important to me. This is important, period! They're hiding something. We deserve to know the truth, Marinette," she finally meets her friend's eyes. _Does she also mean…my truth?_ The bluenette ponders worriedly, breaking their eye contact to look at her hands.

The vehicle gradually comes to a stop and the driver exits swiftly. The car door slams behind her. _That was tense_ , Alya notes to herself. _I should give her some space to cool off._ She forcibly directs her focus towards her surroundings. _This parking lot has seen a lot of use. The paint looks new, but the asphalt has seen better days. There's more than enough room for hundreds of cars._ _Must be a popular place_ , she remarks. She investigates the building before her, seeing it in the daylight for the first time. La Plume du Paon lost some of its mystery under the scrutiny of sunlight. Its gray brick exterior looks washed out against its identifying neon sign. Other than a few emergency exits, Alya doesn't see anything else worth noticing.

Deciding it's time, she opens the passenger door and pauses for Marinette to step out before pulling her into a hug. "Before we go in there, I want you to know something," the redhead pauses, pulling away to look Mari in the eyes. "Look—you're my best friend. I'm sorry I got caught up back there, no matter what happens I've got your back. And I know you'll have mine, too." Marinette nods and smiles tenderly, sniffling slightly. "Good. Now let's go in!"

They push open the hefty metal doors, only to be greeted by silence and an empty dancefloor. The lighting resembles that of an warehouse more than a club. _Shit_ , Marinette realizes, _this is a_ night _club and it's still daytime. Of course, it's not open. But the doors were unlocked…_ she turns to Alya, "We should leave, come back later. We're obviously not supposed to be here right now."

Her concerned glance is met with a knowing look and an eager smile. "This is perfect," Alya whispers, venturing further in, dragging Mari in tow by the arm, "Blending in is overrated. This way we'll definitely catch their attention."

"Catch the attention of the police, more like! This is trespassing!"

"Is it? Just follow my lead, girl, we'll be fine," They crossed the dancefloor towards a section of booths towards the bar. A closer look reveals a stern looking woman, typing away on her laptop, occupying one of the colorful compartments. At their approach she looks up from her work and stands up. The woman's raven and red hair is held up in a tight bun, her grey suit immaculate. She pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose and receives them with a suspicious glare.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" she demands while glancing around impatiently as if expecting someone.

 _Just leaving!_ Marinette opens her mouth to say, before Alya interjects confidently, "We know everything. Who you are. What this place is," she pauses to let her words sink in, "We're here to become a part of it."

The woman blinks in surprise. She hesitates, as if mulling it over, then eyes them appraisingly. "How old are you?"

"Nineteen."

"And your friend here?" The woman retorts, gesturing to Marinette.

"I-I'm eighteen, ma'am," Marinette replies nervously. The woman appears to relax her posture marginally.

"No need to call me ma'am. My name is Nathalie Sancoeur. You may address me as such." The three turn towards the sound of heavy footsteps approaching. Nathalie's face shows visible relief as she recognizes the form of an extremely tall, bulky man with graying hair and sideburns.

"This is my associate, Gorilla. He normally would have been the one to greet you upon entering this establishment," Her diplomatic voice becomes scolding as she confronts him. "Why were you away from your post?"

He shrugs. "Bathroom," he states gruffly. "Want me to take care of these two?" He nods towards the girls. Marinette gulps.

"That will not be necessary. They'll be accompanying me this evening. Return to your post before I report you for negligence," Nathalie warns, then watches him leave to stand guard by the entrance. She sighs and turns to address the duo. "You heard me, girls. You're coming with me."

A/N: This chapter's a bit shorter but it seemed like a good stopping point. Mini cliff hanger :) Hope you enjoyed. My updates might be a bit sporadic but I'm going to try to make them at least once a week. Thanks!


	3. Chapter 3

Alya and Marinette share a look. The former's eyes seem to say, _it's too late to back down now_ , the latter's pleading, _let's run, run and not come back_! Alya's persistence wins out as they both tentatively follow Nathalie as she leads them towards a corded off space. Once within the V.I.P area, they veer towards one of the private rooms. The older woman pulls back a curtain and waits for them to step through. The room is cozy in size, no doubt intending to be intimate. The seats are teal, embroidered with feathery designs. A sleek, black conference table consumes most of the space. The most glaringly obvious of its qualities—it's a dead end. "Why have you brought us here?" Alya questions, thousands of scenarios running through her head. _Is she taking us somewhere quiet to shoot us? To offer us hush money? Initiate us with some secret ritual?_ Nathalie steps into the room, shutting the curtains securely behind her. She gives the redhead an imploring look as she moves to sit at the head of the table. Once there, she reaches below the table, detecting a pop-out panel beneath the upper slab. With efficiency that only comes with practice, she types the passcode into the newly revealed keypad and releases a latch. The lid of the table gradually swings upwards on hinges towards the front of the chamber, revealing a downward staircase. A final switch is flipped, and the stairway is lit up, along with Alya's eyes as she takes it in. _A secret passage_ , she marvels, _I was right. They're more than they pretend to be._ She bites her lip in a cocktail of excitement and nerves. Even Marinette, in her anxious state, gets caught up in the looming impression of awe and wonder pervading the space. Nathalie is unperturbed, her expression stony.

"Go on. After you," she insists cordially, interrupting their daze. The stairway is long and narrow, at the bottom lies a seemingly infinite hallway. The girls feel chills from the cold air emanating from it. The redhead is the first to move, watchfully stepping down the passageway. She is followed shortly by her friend, and Nathalie who pulls the table lid closed with her, locking it securely. There would be no turning back now. With this realization, the girls' hearts pound, adrenaline spiking. Despite their inner turmoil, they try to appear collected. If Ms. Sancoeur notices anything amiss with them she makes no comment on it as she guides them past several doors and around a corner. The only noticeable sound is the click of heels against the concrete. Their destination is some type of office, with all the charm of a holding cell. Their guide takes the helm of an imposing oak desk, and gestures for them to sit down.

"Before you can get what you want, there are a few standard procedures to complete," she pulls a thick stack of papers from a filing cabinet behind her, separating the heap into two piles and sliding them towards each girl. "The first step is to fill out the proper forms and sign the contract. As you may have gathered, we Creators of the Miraculous prize knowledge and treat valuable information with reverence, only offering it to the worthy. To share our treasured wisdom with others, or the public, without authorization will lead to serious consequences," she pauses to scrutinize the expressions of Marinette and Alya, as a predator might analyze its surroundings to scent fear. Seemingly satisfied with what she sees, Nathalie continues, "For that reason the contract includes a non-disclosure agreement, or NDA. This assures that the consequences for treachery will be exacted within the organization, and the law. Any questions?"

She pauses for two seconds before nodding, "Very well then. You have 20 minutes to complete all documentation. After that period, I will come to collect you. If not finished by then, the offer is void. I'll leave you to it," she concludes and dismisses herself, leaving the same way they came in.

At first all the two are capable of is staring at the mountain of papers before them. The ticking of the clock is exaggerated in the presence of quiet. It becomes nearly unbearable, constantly reminding them of how little time they have to navigate their situation. Feeling crushed by the immense pressure, Marinette blurts out, "Shit, Alya. There's no way. You can't go any further without giving up your right to report on any of this," she lowers her gaze, wringing her hands, "and if we leave without signing…"

"They're not going to let us leave. You heard the lady. Members or no, they're not going to allow anybody into their hideout without having their silence guaranteed. Look around!" Alya bursts, "This is basically a prison! No one knows where we are, either." She sighs, resting her head in her hands. "Looks like the only way out is through. If only she'd give me enough time to read it all! Maybe then I could find a loophole, or at least know what I'm getting into."

"Okay…okay. We push through. At least if we do what they say, we'll be safe. Probably. Wait—if they do something illegal won't that invalidate the contract?"

Alya perks up a bit at the thought. "If the organization is crooked there's no way the courts would enforce the NDA. At least…I think so. I could really use a lawyer right about now," she jokes, though neither girl manages a smile. Alya looks up into her companion's bluebell eyes regretfully. "I'm sorry. I dragged you into this. Maybe if I'd have listened—"

She is interrupted by a comforting hand holding her shoulder. Marinette shakes her head, reassuring, "You're talking as if we're doomed. We can do this, Alya. You've got the mind of a brilliant journalist. I trust you. It's like you said, we're in this together. Also…we don't have a lot of time for talk right now." She grabs two pens from the desk and hands one to her friend. "Come on, let's hurry." Soon the only noise came from the rushed scratches of their writing, and the ticking of the clock. _Name…age…address…national identification number…_ Marinette gets the creeping feeling that she's signing over her soul as she shares divulges more and more sensitive information. _Living relatives?_ _Why would they want to know that?_ she swallows her doubts as she presses forward. She prioritizes signing and dating each section over learning the terms of what she's agreeing to, praying she'll be able to revisit it. Even so, a few terms catch her attention briefly as she goes about her task. Detainment, medical release, liability waver, none of it spells good things. Yet, she can't afford to focus on it. She's in the middle of doublechecking her work when Nathalie reenters.

The stoic woman wordlessly extends her hand to collect the forms. Wasting no time on ceremony, she peruses the documents for any error or incompletion. Finding none, she carefully tucks them away in her briefcase. "Congratulations," she starts, "you are now Creators of the Miraculous. The next step would ordinarily be a debriefing, however…your situation is unusual. Your timing coincides with a community event," a rare half-smile appears on her normally apathetic face, "An event that, it's safe to assume, you won't want to miss." The two girls lean forward slightly in their seats, curiosity piqued. "If you would kindly hand over your cellular devices, we'll proceed." _Of course_ , Alya winces. _They wouldn't risk something like that in their precious sanctum. Even if there's no cell service down here._ They begrudgingly part with their phones, trying to memorize the filing cabinet Nathalie locks them up in. "They'll be securely stored in here until you're ready to pick them up. Now, follow me." She opens the door for them, then leader them to an entry way they passed earlier. Unlocking the entrance with a security passcode as they'd grown to expect, Ms. Sancoeur comments, "After a preliminary period of membership, you'll gain authorization to unlock these doors unassisted." Alya notes this with interest.

"How long until that preliminary period is over?" she ventures to ask, risking sounding impatient.

"Depends on the individual," Nathalie remarks vaguely.

The doors whoosh open, exposing an entirely different environment. The dingy utilitarian concrete of before transforms into polished marble. The walls transition into richly detailed wooden paneling. The hallway spreads into an elegant lounge filled with expensive looking chaises and artworks. Silk Persian rugs line the floors. It looks like it was meant to seat about forty people, but it was desolate except for them. _Real subtle_ , Alya thinks snidely, _They should have just written "I have money" on their foreheads and saved themselves some effort._ Marinette, on the other hand, is enchanted. Simply standing in a room as luxurious as this invokes her sense of grandeur and importance. The bluenette is not vain by any means, but the artist within her always exults in beauty—whether it belongs to a place or a person. A part of her imagines a successful, future version of herself in a room like this one, wearing a sophisticated scarlet dress of her design and rubbing shoulders with influential people. On her arm would be none other than Adrien Agreste, debonair and charming as ever in a suit and vest. _Quit daydreaming, Mari_! She chides herself, _This place isn't dreamland. It's dangerous. Don't get lost in it_. She concentrates on putting one foot in front of the other as she trails Nathalie and Alya through the lounge.

They arrive at a gold-plated elevator. Moments after Nathalie presses the button a soft chime rings and it opens, its interior showcasing a panel of at least a dozen selections of floors. _Don't tell me…this place goes even deeper underground?_ Alya bites the inside of her cheek apprehensively. The woman selects the switch labeled B7 and they all shuffle slightly as the elevator accelerates downward. "Everyone else has already taken their seats. We'll need to hurry if you want to be there for the event's entirety," Nathalie instructs, briskly exiting onto the chosen floor. The level is similar in style to the one they came from, but sparsely decorated and unfurnished. It appears to be little more than an endless, slightly curved hallway, with door after door lining one side of its walls. Almost like a lopsided hotel, each door had a sign with a number identifying it. They walk past numbers as high as 37 before Nathalie pauses, "This is your stop," she announces. But as Alya steps forward and reaches for the handle Ms. Sancoeur blocks the redhead with her outstretched arm. "Not for you. You are assigned to section 48." Alya opens her mouth to protest but holds her tongue. She doesn't want to be separated from her friend, but she also needs to pick her battles. She sends Marinette an apologetic backward glance as she continues down the hallway.

Distraught, Marinette considers sneaking after them. _I probably wouldn't make it very far_ , she sighs, _before tripping, or sneezing, or messing up somehow and getting caught_. _I'll see her again. Just as soon as…whatever this is, is over with._ Resolved, she pushes open the door. Whatever she expected to be inside—this wasn't it. She wanders inward in astonishment, the door clicking shut behind her. The enclosure resembles box seats in an opera house, complete with velvet seats and regal stone railing. Except what it overlooked wasn't a stage—it was an arena. A colosseum. She could hardly process any of it before a booming voice resounded through the stadium.

"Welcome, one and all to this week's Challenge! Training with us today will be a new addition to the Akumas—Stormy Weather!" The announcement is received with cheers. A large gate at the base of the arena splits open to allow the entrance of a petite young woman with striking striped pigtails. She wields a purple parasol, and grins wickedly as she hovers into the spotlight.

"Wait, it can't be, she's…floating?!" Marinette zealously scans Stormy Weather's surroundings for a harness system or any hint of deception. It could be a hologram. Possibly even magnets.

"Aaand for our second competitor, three-time champion, The Pharaoh!" The crowd's applause intensifies as a massive, built man donning a golden mask exits another gate, opposite the first. His eyes glow a menacing blue. "The duel starts in 3….2….1!" There's a series of hollers and exclamations from the crowd as the two competitors leap into action. Stormy Weather points the tip of her parasol at her opponent and it releases an arching bolt of lightning that morphs into a dense maelstrom of ice shooting straight for the Pharaoh. He shows little concern as his mask shifts into that of a baboon and he summons a translucent yellow orb between his hands, pushing it into the maelstrom. Once they collide, the ice and even the air around it slows into a harmless breeze, and swirls calmly in the orb, which now resembles a giant snow globe. Without hesitating, he continually summons more orbs, surrounding his rival with them. She counters by ascending further into the air, bypassing them entirely. She glides past him, pushing him towards his own traps with a fierce gust of wind.

Marinette feels part of the gust hit her, ruffling her hair and jacket. _It's not a hologram then, at least not completely_ , she ascertains, _but I had no idea they could made special effects fans so strong_. _They must be far away since I can't see them from here._ She fixes her hair distractedly, her expression incredulous as she watches the battle unfold.

The Pharaoh is shoved backwards several yards towards the opposite end of the stadium, struggling to keep his feet on the ground. Proving to be futile, he abandons his efforts and his mask shifts into the head of a hawk. He unsteadily rises into the air, still buffeted by wind. He dodges the orbs but collides with the wall brutally. Taking advantage of his sudden weakness, Stormy Weather pelts him with fist-sized hail. She cackles maniacally as many of the projectiles hit. He attempts to shelter himself with a fortress of orbs. They slow the hail enough for them to bounce off him harmlessly, but the storm is relentless and within a minute he is nearly freezing, buried under a pile of hail and sleet.

Meanwhile, Marinette is hit with a realization. _The weather effects must be real because I can feel them. The wind, the cold, the moisture and electricity in the air. But…they can't be. They're being slowed by those spheres. That isn't physically possible. It defies logic. Unless…_ she gulps, her hands flying to her mouth, _all of it is real! Then the fight…isn't staged. They're actual superheroes. It can't be real, but it has to be._ She feels the building tremble and a shockwave run through her as The Pharaoh claps his hands together, sending the ice covering him flying in all directions in a ground-shaking display of power. His mantle is in the form of a lioness as he faces Stormy Weather with renewed vigor. The bluenette can hardly register the battle before her anymore as she processes the reality she's forced to confront. She still felt wobbly, whether it was due to the shockwave or her own shock, she couldn't tell. _Their powers are real. Does that mean this cult is the real deal? Their secretiveness makes a lot more sense now. If this wasn't kept from the public who knows how the world would react. I can even understand their name now. These 'akuma' must be what they mean by miraculous. Which makes their goal to help people create and become akumas!_ Her eyes widen and so does her smile. She suddenly feels like the luckiest person in the world. She stares up into the rafters of the arena as all her dreams and wishes are rekindled within her. Her mind begins to wander off, visualizing herself as one of the champions below her, soaring through the air. The image is interrupted when she spots something unexpected in the upper beams.

A pair of glowing green eyes overlook the stadium. After her vision adjusts to the darkness, she can make out the body of the young man the eyes belong to. He is crouched, observing the fight tensely, looking like he's ready to jump into the fray at any moment. He is dressed in all black leather, camouflaged fully in shadow except for a golden bell at his throat. His fair hair hangs messily over his angular face; nestled in his tresses is a set of cat ears. _Who is this?_ Marinette wonders, intrigued. _He's clearly no ordinary observer_. As if sensing her attention on him, he swivels his head, meeting her stare. His feline pupils are piercing. They send electricity up her spine as they search her inquisitively. She returns the intensity, involuntarily gripping the railing, leaning into it. An otherworldliness envelopes him, even as a part of him seems familiar—

An agonized scream echoes through the arena. They both break eye contact to find its source. In the place of The Pharaoh, a frail looking man is splayed out on the ground. His glasses are cracked and his clothing dirtied. Stormy Weather stands victoriously over him, stepping on his arm with enough force to fracture bones. The injured man takes a lungful of air preparing to release another anguished yell when the Akuma is tackled off him. The cat boy skillfully restrains her, confiscating her umbrella and dragging her through one of the gates and out of sight. The redheaded man cautiously gets up, gingerly holding his arm and hobbling to the other gate. "This week's champion is…Stormy Weather!" the announcer broadcasts, eliciting more cheers from the crowd. "See you all next time! Don't miss our in-depth analysis and a play by play in room 307 tomorrow, six o'clock!" The spotlights shut off. Marinette is alone with her thoughts, myriad emotions threatening to bubble over. She hasn't forgotten the surprising cruelty of the winning akuma, or the shadowy young man, but her heart still soars from the possibilities. _It's possible_ , she thought to herself in amazement. _I can become a hero. I can heal my mom! I wouldn't have learned about any of this if it weren't for Alya,_ she thinks warmly, filling with gratitude. She could hardly contain her elated laugh, jumping up and down. _All my problems are solved! All I need to do is become an akuma._

A/N: Sorry the chapter has a section about paperwork :P but now that the set up is mostly over with its time for the good stuff. Next chapter we're going to get some Chat Noir POV. At this point in the story there's an opportunity to introduce a lot more characters from the show (especially akumas) so if you have anyone in mind you'd like to see please leave a review! Thanks for reading.


	4. Chapter 4

Adrien loves a lot of things about being Chat Noir. The power, the freedom, the action. But he what he did _not_ love, was doing this. Stormy Weather hisses and resists the entire way as he drags her to the recovery room. Being responsible for enraged Akumas is comparable to babysitting a toddler. That is, if said toddler has super strength, agility, and a general interest in maiming people. He huffs in irritation and exertion as he straps her onto the hospital bed, securing her arms and legs so she wouldn't cause any more harm to others or herself. "That's enough from you, Coldilocks," he mutters to himself. He watches his father's symbol light up on her face one last time, before Hawkmoth finally deems it appropriate to release her transformation. Stormy Weather disappears in a pulse of purple mist, leaving only a confused and dazed Aurore. She asks the usual questions he'd grown to expect from a first-time akuma. He tries to answer her with compassion, but his mind and heart are elsewhere.

 _Where am I?_ "You're in one of our recovery rooms. It is recommended that you spend at least thirty minutes here to recuperate and reflect on your training, but you can leave anytime."

 _What happened?_ "You were akumatized by Hawkmoth. You battled against The Pharaoh and won. Congrats. It's normal to have a foggy memory of the events. To help with this, you can watch a recording of it, on that screen there." He gestures to the flat screen mounted to the ceiling above her.

 _Did I hurt anyone?_ He waits expectantly for her to ask, but it never comes. Instead, she asks, "How do I turn it on?

"What?" he blinks.

"The recording. I want to watch it."

 _Of course_ , he winces. _She's that kind of Akuma._ Ruthlessly competitive, both in and out of her transformations. She cares more about her performance than her opponent's welfare. He hands her the remote and undoes her bindings. "Anything else?"

Aurore merely shakes her head, already absorbed in the events replaying on the screen. Chat Noir frowns slightly, then exits, shutting the door on his way out. _I'd better check on Jalil next._ He starts walking to the medical bay where the redhead is undoubtedly having a less than pleasant time. Guilt catches up to him as his thoughts return to his recent blunder. He allowed himself to be distracted. If he'd been doing his job properly he'd have noticed Jalil's detransformation and been there to protect him before he could get hurt. Though, to be fair, it was quite the surprise seeing a classmate here. And Marinette, at that. He baffles himself trying to picture his shy, kind-hearted peer getting scouted. Even the idea of her attending one of the seminars seemed out of character. Although, she has been uncharacteristically downtrodden lately. Now that he thinks about it, tonight was the happiest she had looked for months. That more than anything is what perplexes him.

Members of the Creators of the Miraculous consist of ambitious, open-minded individuals who are willing to take risks and work hard to improve themselves. That is the ideal, at least. In practice, all Chat Noir sees is selfishness. They are greedy people who are set on hoarding as much influence as they can. Even Chat Noir himself is no exception. Now that he's had a taste of being Miraculous he has no intention of ever releasing that power willingly. Gaining the abilities of an Akuma or Miraculous is akin to taking a bite of the forbidden fruit. It opens your eyes. It provides you with limitless potential. But…it ultimately fails to satisfy. He recalls countless nights of watching the crowd and only seeing leers and smirks, their hearts set on chasing their desires in a perpetual rat race. When he spotted Marinette tonight, he saw none of that—only joy and wonder. It sparked something in him. It planted a little sprout of warmth in his heart.

Hawkmoth has always claimed his organization is intended to inspire self-mastery and fulfillment, but Chat Noir has always been skeptical—of both his father's benevolent intentions and their curriculum's ability to bring about such things. After witnessing a fragment of those goals come to fruition in Marinette, he thinks he may have been too harsh. _If this place can make her smile like that, we must be doing something right,_ he affirms. His steps are a pinch livelier as he strides towards the med bay. He halts his approach when he spots Nathalie standing in its doorway, clearly expecting him.

"What have you got for me?" he asks. Her presence here can only mean his "boss" Hawkmoth has another task for him.

"We've got an infiltrator. She spilled about her intention to report on everything she can find. It's the first time that bugged room has been useful. The girl's name is Alya Cesaire. Her address and additional info are in this file. She's not much of a threat, but we'd like you to…discourage her from her wrongdoing. You know what to do." He nods and numbly collects the file. She continues, "I trust you won't have trouble finding the place?"

"I'll manage. Who's going to handle Kalil if I'm leaving?"

"Lila," she answers, giving him a stern look at his eyeroll. "You may not like her, but she's good at what she does. If you weren't so contrary you might learn a something from her."

"I'm just going to leave and pretend I didn't hear that," he retreats towards his destination. He feels uneasy leaving Jalil with that woman. As far as Akumas go, the redhead is one of the more down-to-earth and caring. Unfortunately, those qualities make him ill-prepared to deal with Volpina's wiles. He mentally shakes himself off, _Kalil will be fine. He's a grown man, he doesn't need a babysitter. At least, not now that he's de-transformed_. _What I really need to be worried is about Alya._ Two classmates in one night. It wouldn't be a coincidence that the pair showed up at the same time, they must've come together. _I guess that solves the mystery of how Mari got here._ He doesn't know either of them particularly well, but he knows Alyais driven enough to sniff The Creators out and drag her friend along with her for the ride. He isn't used to mixing his personal life with his professional one. Targeting a fellow student on his mission feels about as pleasant as running into your elderly teacher while speed-dating. These outings into the Paris Nights are the closest thing to free-time Adrien has. His nose crinkles as he begrudgingly accepts that this mission will be less consequence-free than usual.

The elevator chimes and transports him to the roof of the nightclub. The blonde takes a deep breath as he steps into the moonlight. He savors every moment away from people's judging eyes.

All day, every day, only his best behavior. His father would accept nothing less. It paints a lovely picture…the affluent designer and his model son. They were beyond suspicion. They were safe atop the pedestal the public put them on. So long as neither of them did anything to draw scrutiny, their reputation stays clean from any association with The Creators of the Miraculous. The Agreste brand remains spotless. He understands why it's necessary, but…

He sighs, bringing his clawed fingers up to trace his mask. He can only truly be himself when he's disguised. The irony isn't lost on him. He extends his arms towards the sky in a languid stretch, extending his staff as they swing back to his sides. A cool breeze tousles his hair. _Enough cat-itude. I've got a mole to hunt._ If a passerby were to look up at just the right instant, they would perceive a mere outline of a shadow against the cloudy night sky, bounding from roof to roof with inhuman agility. Said passerby would probably experience fear. Perhaps even question their sanity, or sobriety. However, on this night as all others, there were no especially perceptive passerby's and Chat Noir traverses the streets of Paris entirely unobserved.

He pauses once he finds himself against the brick of Alya's apartment complex. _I'll need to be stealthy. Can't bring her family into this._ He shimmies to the nearest window, tentatively peering inside. The lights are off, but he can make out two beds and a clutter of toys. _Not this one._ He continues until he reaches the best candidate: a colorful, organized room with a full-sized bed. He gently eases himself onto the balcony and tries the lock on the glass door. To his delight, it slides open. _Guess she wasn't too concerned about break-ins on a third story balcony. I imagine she'll keep it locked from now on._ He pads into the center of the room, scanning her possessions. _Books, a backpack, ah, a laptop. Essential for a journalist. Good place to start._ He opens it, hoping to gain access to her files. He is met with a lock screen, the password hint only "you know what it is…". _You've got to be kitten me, Alya. Not helpful._ Chat Noir may have many a wide array of skills, but hacking is not one of them. He'll have to deal with it the old-fashioned way. "Cataclysm," he whispers, keeping an eye on the door as he swats the computer with his glowing claw. The laptop disintegrates into a delicate pile of dust on her desk. It's just enough evidence to suggest that something was once there, but not enough to prove foul play. The perfect balance. _It isn't complete yet_ , he ponders. _If she likes solving mysteries so much, I'll leave one for her_. He turns to the large map of Paris on the opposite wall, sharpie in hand. It is already covered in pins and pen marks, all related to the movements and activities of The COM. His own puzzle mimics her notations, loosely related and spread out, but ultimately coalescing on a single point. Instead of the hidden headquarters, the notes would all lead to a funeral home and mortuary.

He nods approvingly at his work. He was sure Alya would take the hint and try harder to keep herself and Marinette out of trouble. The muffled click of a deadbolt unlocking interrupts Chat double-checking his work. He scurries out and onto the roof, barely slipping away before the door opens.

"Damn it!" he curses, fleeing the scene. It was a close call. He catches his breath on a roof several blocks away. Chat Noir sits cross legged, chin in his hands. Overall, he feels rather discontented with the evening. Not just because of his rushed exit. He gets the nagging sense that he needs to make another stop. He stands up and paces. _Hawkmoth won't mind if I stay out awhile longer. The job's done, he's got what he wanted, that's all he'll care about. There's just a little something I need to check on. Or rather, someone._ If Alya was just getting home, that means Marinette must be home too. _And this cat has many curiosities that need satisfying_. Having made up his mind, he pounces, soaring through the streets until he's flanking her family's bakery. He approaches from the back of the building in case she's on her balcony. The precaution proves unnecessary as he spots the bluenette in her room. Still wearing her white dress from before, she's seated at one of her work desks, illuminated by a table lamp.

He swallows, throat suddenly dry as he takes her in. _She's radiant._ His cheeks color and he catches himself. _Wait, no, not that kind of radiant. Though she is very pretty. She's just…beaming._ Emanating warmth and positivity even as she's—he squints, straining his vision to see what she's working on—doing physics homework? Chat Noir almost laughs aloud. No one should look that happy while studying. _Im-paw-sible_. But here she is, cheerfully scribbling away at her assignment as if it were her favorite activity in the world. He tries to recall that last time he'd seen someone exude such pure, unadulterated joy. His lids slip closed. He envisions it's himself resting on Marinette's pink bed instead of the cat plushie. Like a lazy housecat, he'd nap and bask in her good mood as if she were the sun streaming in through the curtains. Maybe when she'd finished her work she'd let him rest on her lap and she'd scratch his ears, humming a soothing tune. A rumble builds in his chest. His body leans into the wall he's clinging to, the vibrations escalading into a full-blown purr.

A minute passes, and his eyes snap open. He nearly loses his grip on the bricks as his flustered mind grasps what he'd been doing. He covers his mouth with his hands. Taking one last glimpse of Marinette, he concludes its time for him to go back. He's flushed with embarrassment as he retraces his path across Paris. _I'm more affection-starved than I thought_ , he remarks abashedly, _roping my school acquaintance into my fantasies just because her newfound cheeriness is contagious._ Even though she wasn't harmed or affected by his thoughts, his guilt makes him want to make it up to her somehow.

As he reenters the headquarters, the perfect solution dawns on him. A way for him to help her, while she unknowingly helps him. The hierarchies of The Creators of the Miraculous can be a treacherous place to navigate. Especially unaided. If her happiness truly stems from her involvement with them, he can help her. Protect her from those that might try to tear her down or take advantage and guide her to the top. In return… he can get to know her. Spend time with her. She was something of a mystery to him. As Adrien, he could hardly even make eye contact with her without her showing visible discomfort. As Chat Noir, he could finally find out what makes her tick, and discover whatever secret she's hiding that's caused her to act so strangely. He grins as he makes up his mind. _Tomorrow, I'll become her mentor._

A/N: In this story Adrien isn't evil, he's just a bit misguided. He's a semi-angsty cinnamon roll with a misaligned moral compass. A sin-namon roll, if you will. Hopefully he's not too OOC. Next update it's back to Marinette.


	5. Chapter 5

The school day couldn't have passed any slower for Marinette. The euphoria of her discovery had steeled into a determined optimism and an eagerness to advance, leaving her with extreme tunnel vision. All her concentration is narrowed onto getting the cure for her mother within her grasp. If she hadn't been so caught up, she may have noticed Adrien sneaking glances at her, or Alya acting jumpy and on edge all day. But she didn't, and now that the time arrived to return to the headquarters her enthusiasm is unfettered. She shifts in the passenger's seat impatiently, almost wishing Alya would break the speed limit so they could get there faster.

Like her friend, Alya wishes they could go faster, except in the opposite direction. If it weren't for Nathalie's firm insistence that they return the next day to finish their initiation, she's sure she'd be far away. She'd considered begging her family to go on a trip out of town. It'd keep them out of harm's way, if only temporarily. Besides, it would be risky to ask them something of them so insistently without giving them any reason as to why. They might start asking questions that she couldn't answer. Not yet, at least. She still clings to her hope of authoring an exposé, but right now chances look bleak. _Everything looks bleak_ , she amends dejectedly. It had shocked her. Unsettled her in a way she hadn't anticipated. Her own home invaded… the intruder somehow gaining access to her room and _turning her goddamn laptop to dust_ without leaving a trace. Not to mention their audacity to deface her map with their own demented riddle.

It took less than an hour to solve, but the implications of it left her unable to sleep. The threat was as clear as a message written in blood on a mirror, but it blended in so well with her previous annotations that only she can distinguish it. It frustrated her and paralyzed her with fear. Somehow, they knew her plan. Figured it out on day one. At first, she'd been worried Marinette had been targeted as well, that she'd been forced to confess everything she knew and why she was there. That possibility was eliminated as soon as Alya saw her friend's high spirits this morning. At that point she knew it was just her. It was a relief and a burden. While she was glad her friend hadn't been threatened, it left a chasm between them and their experiences in the cult. Marinette's attitude towards it did a complete 180, leaving Alya to question if her loyalties were beginning to shift. It concerns her, but ultimately, she trusts in Marinette's good conscience.

Since the information didn't come from Marinette, at least directly, they must have sniffed it out through surveillance. From now on she predicts it's safer to assume she's always being watched and listened to. For all she knows, not even her thoughts are safe. With the abilities displayed in yesterday's battle, she can't eliminate the possibility that one of them had mindreading powers. The paranoid is eating at her. She can't bring herself to inflict Marinette with it as well, so she resolves to keep it secret, for now. She catches her passenger's eye at a stoplight, Marinette finally picking up on signs of her inner turmoil.

"You look worried. Is something bothering you?" Mari asks, tone mildly concerned.

"Not really. It's just…I lost my laptop. I must have left it in the library or something. Nothing serious," she answers dismissively.

"Oh, okay. Let me know if you need help looking for it," The bluenette appears to accept the fib, mind already going elsewhere. Her seatbelt is off as soon as they enter the parking lot, and she is out the door the instant the vehicle stops. The sun has set, and this time the parking lot is full of club goers. To her dismay, there's a queue in front of the entrance. She starts towards the back of the line.

Alya grabs her elbow before she gets very far, "You know that line's not for us, right girl? Let's go in through the back." She nods and follows the redhead passed the crowd to the other side of the building. They spot a simple gray door blending into the exterior. It leads to a corner of the VIP room, where they come face to face with the towering form of the Gorilla. He must recognize them, because he gives them a rigid nod and steps to the side. The dance music booming from the speakers is felt in the pair's bones as they step further into the room. Though it's less packed than the main dancefloor, it's still challenging to find Nathalie in the sea of bodies. Marinette is in the middle of scanning the bar when she spots Jagged Stone, sipping a martini while chatting with a purple-haired woman. Her mouth falls open in disbelief. _He isn't…is he a member of the Creators?_ She's about to approach him when Alya nudges her and points to Nathalie, waiting for them at a table across the room. "Found her."

 _I guess I won't be meeting him today_ , she thinks, a bit disappointed as she walks towards the table, _but if he's a member, I'll see him again_. The woman gets up once she sees them, and wordlessly leads them to the same private room as yesterday. They go down the secret stairway, into the elevator, and end up in a place that looks a bit like a small classroom. Nathalie stands behind a podium, gesturing for them to take a seat, then getting to work on setting up a projector. While she's busy, the two girls take note of their surroundings. The walls are white with mahogany baseboards that match the wood panel floor. There are several rows of plush armchairs. It was certainly cozier than any classroom Marinette had been in.

"In order to be a proper member of this group, you should become familiar with its founding. The prophet who enlightened us with his divine knowledge is called Hawkmoth," Nathalie started, pressing a button and pulling up a photo of a man. His ensemble consists of a silver mask, encompassing his entire head except for his mouth and eyes, and a fine purple suit with a butterfly brooch. Even though his attire is somewhat outlandish, he exudes authority. "He opened this institution to a select circle of members about five years ago," she continues, "it has grown considerably since. As the original Miraculous, he should be treated with the utmost respect. If you ever encounter him, you must address him as Master Hawkmoth. As you may have gathered, we are a meritocracy. At the highest level, there are the Miraculous, who have been blessed by Master Hawkmoth to wield consistent abilities for long periods of time. They can transform at will. There are only three, and each should be met with esteem. They have proven themselves to be worthy. Each has a unique role within the organization.

"Below the Miraculous are the Counselors. We are the members who assist with standard operations and are considered worthy of Master Hawkmoth's trust. Though we do not have the gifts of the Miraculous, we are endowed with wisdom. Below us, are the Akumas. This level consists of members who have been transformed at least once. The more transformations they achieve, and the more challenges they triumph, the higher rank they earn within the order," she presses another button and the image shifts to one of a contest between two unfamiliar Akuma. "Those cannot transform, or who are not yet ready to, are called Observers. Their role is to learn from their betters and watch others' training to improve their own skills to prepare to move up the ladder. You two are both Observers. To retain good standing as a member, you are required to attend the Challenges and at least three other events, every week. If you fail to do so you will be put on probation. While under pro—" She's interrupted by a light knock on the door. "Come in,"

A tall man with wavy brown hair enters the room, carrying a clipboard. He's dressed in a suit with an eccentric bright purple jacket. He approaches Ms. Sancoeur and the two exchange words, hushed enough that Marinette can't quite make out what they're saying. She looks to Alya, but her friend doesn't seem to catch their words either. When she looks back at the newcomer she finds both his and Nathalie's gaze already on her. "Ms. Dupain-Cheng, your presence has been requested," the man declares.

"This is Simon, a fellow counselor," Ms. Sancoeur introduces, "He'll be escorting you to the appointment."

"Um, okay," Marinette stands up and follows Simon out of the room, after sharing a confused look with Alya. "Who's requested my presence exactly?"

"One of the Miraculous," he starts, speed walking to the elevator. She has to nearly jog to keep up with his long legs. "I'm sure he'd prefer to introduce himself."

She remains silent for the length of the elevator ride in puzzlement. What could one of the higher-ups want with her? She'd just gotten here. Unless…was she under suspicion? But then wouldn't they have wanted Alya as well? Their destination floor was different than any of the previous ones. Instead of the classical, somewhat old-fashioned style of the upper basement, this place is sleek and modern. The walls a pristine white with black granite bottom panels. The tiles were also white except for elegant black patterns contrasted with lines across the edges of the hall. There were hints of art deco in the double doors they passed, and the stylish light fixtures. She found the lack of color and the high ceilings a bit intimidating. Overall, she felt as if she was walking towards a job interview she was extremely underqualified for. Simon stops at one of the looming black doors, knocking and announcing, "She's here."

"Send her in," a muffled voice replies.

Simon nods at her. "Very well. It was a pleasure meeting you, Ms. Dupain-Cheng. I'll leave you now." He says his goodbyes as he pulls the door for her politely.

"Thank you," she nods back at him, stepping into the room. It is…different than she expected. The hallway had been daunting and professional, this place looks casual. Almost inviting. It's carpeted a light gray with thick padding, cushioning her steps. Right away she notices a foosball table, several arcade games, and bookshelves. _Finally, some color_ , she praises. A spiral staircase leads up to a loft, where she can spot even more bookshelves.

"Like what you see?" her attention is drawn towards the source of the voice. _It's the cat man_ , she observes, her eyebrows shooting up. He's sitting on a sofa, slightly to her left, his arms sprawled across its back. Now that she sees him up close, she can tell he's around her age. _More of a cat boy than a cat man._

Remembering that he asked a question, albeit an ill-phrased one, she comments cordially, "Yes, the room is quite lovely."

"Meow-ch," He places a gloved hand over his heart, "You wound me. You don't think I'm lovely too?"

"Sorry, kitty. I'm more of a dog person," she counters without thinking, immediately putting her hand over her mouth, wishing she could take it back. _Nathalie was just talking about being respectful to the Miraculous and I just called this one "kitty"!_ _I'm doomed. I'm going to be an Observer forever. Or just kicked out._ But when she looks at him, he's grinning playfully, seemingly unperturbed by her informality.

"The name's Chat Noir. But you can call me kitty if you want, purrincess." He gestures to the coach across from him, "Come on, take a seat. I don't bite." She hesitantly follows his instruction, her back rigid and her hands resting in her lap, trying to regain a bit of professionalism. "You're probably wondering why I asked for you," She nods. "It's because you have potential. It's rare to see someone with your wholesome passion around here. I'd like to see you succeed."

Marinette tries to process this, cheeks flushing slightly from the praise. "I don't entirely understand. How do you know I have potential? You've never even met me before," she expresses her doubt.

"Call it a cat's instinct. I've got a nose for talent. I'm not wrong, am I?" he leans forward, emerald eyes boring into hers.

"No…I believe I have what it takes," she asserts, trying to lend her voice some confidence as she realizes her success could hinge on this Chat Noir's approval. "and I'll do whatever I have to, if it means getting to the top." Although she hadn't considered it before, she understands she's being honest. Her mom's life is on the line. No price is too high.

"You really mean that?" his eyes darken and his eyebrows furrow.

"Yes," she confirms grimly. He stands up and begins to pace, clutching his temple. _Did I say something wrong?_ She bites her lip, waiting for him to speak.

He turns back towards her, still standing. "Don't say that to anyone else, got it? I'm glad you're honest with me, it's not that, it's—look, all it's going to take is you being yourself. Just that, and a bit of help from me." He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "I'll mentor you, even put in a good word with old Hawkmoth. All you have to do is cooperate." He sits down again. Trying to lighten the mood, he jokes, "That is, if you'll have me. You could always wait for the dog Miraculous's help instead,"

"Is there a dog Miraculous?" Marinette asks curiously, glad to shed some of their conversation's sudden intensity.

"Not technically," he gives her a conspiratorial smirk, "But one of them is a bitch." A laugh escapes her, before she pushes it down out of propriety.

"Aren't all the Miraculous supposed to be treated with the utmost respect? That is… aren't you going to get in trouble for calling one a bitch?"

"Are you worried about me, milady? I'm honored," he teases, chuckling at her eye roll. She was actually more concerned about herself getting in trouble as a co-conspirator to his trash talk. "Those rules don't really apply to us. Just you guys," he looks thoughtful for a moment, "They won't apply to you either, when you're with me. I want you to treat me the same way you'd treat any other handsome, charming superhero."

"If that's the case…you don't mind me asking why I should trust you with my instruction. Nathalie was doing a pretty good job." He scoffs, and she continues tentatively, "And you seem…like a bit of a rascal, if I'm being honest."

"Wow, save the claws for the Challenges, Mari. No, I don't mind, I'm glad you asked. Nathalie might seem alright at first, but you'd have been bored out of your mind by week two. I'm a lot more fun. Plus, she and all the Counselors only tell you the textbook stuff. I can tell you things they can't. The sort of thing's you'll really need to know—like who to avoid, how to become an Akuma quickly, and how to get on Hawkmoth's good side. Can't get that from anyone else." She strokes her chin thoughtfully. _He does have some good points, if he's being honest._ "So?" he urges, eagerly, "Do we have a deal?" She offers a small smile.

"Yes, we have a deal. When do we start?"

"Right now," He beams, looking quite pleased with how things turned out. Marinette eyes his roguish grin. _What have I gotten myself into?_

* * *

A/N: They've finally met :) Yes, the bitch he's talking about is Lila. In this story she actually has the fox miraculous. Even though in the show Chat Noir got along with her okay until she was revealed to be an akuma, I think they'd get on each other's nerves long term for sure. Next chapter's some more Chat Noir POV.


	6. Chapter 6

Chat Noir is sure he looks like the cat who ate the canary. His plan is going off without a hitch. Already, Mari has communicated more with him today than all the time he's known her as Adrien. She even had the boldness to call him "kitty". Though she wasn't exactly relaxed, she didn't seem uncomfortable either. He's sure she'll confide in him in no time at all. Though, her secrets may be profounder than he imagined. _"I'll do whatever I have to,"_ she'd said. There was fire in her eyes as she confessed it, as if her sunny aura from yesterday had condensed into a furnace in her heart. The motivating influence fueling that passion must be momentous. He can't help but admire it, even while fearing it. _If she'd admitted her desperation to Volpina, or even a less-savory Akuma_ …his claws dig into the sofa. _I'd rather not think about it. Besides, they can't get to her now._ It is a surreal experience for him, being able to change the someone's path so easily. He's hardly had any control over his own life before, let alone others'. It's intoxicating. Despite not having the intent to exploit the situation, the thrill still affects him.

Attention returning to the present, he settles on the best way to begin. "Before we start the first lessons, do you have any more questions for me?" Marinette's wary expression changes to thoughtful.

"Nathalie told us each Miraculous has a unique role. What's yours?"

"You've already seen me in action, remember? I manage the transformed Akumas, keep them in line and prevent outbreaks. The challenge you saw was remarkably tame—most of the time I have to interfere earlier to keep the crazies from attacking the audience,"

"Outbreaks?" she questions, perplexed.

"You'll experience this first-hand when you become akumatized, but most Akumas struggle with the compulsion to break out of the arena and go terrorize Paris. Most of the time people are transformed while having strong feelings about something, or someone, on the outside. Often their success depends on their talent at managing the impulse to pursue the target of their emotions, which allows them to focus on taking down their opponent. As you can imagine, an Akuma on the loose outside this building would be cat-astrophic. Thanks to yours truly, it's never happened." Her eyebrows pinch together.

"Are…peaceful Akumas allowed outside? In special circumstances?" her question is tinged with a hope he doesn't fully grasp.

He chuckles, "Yes, peaceful Akumas…along with flying pigs and jackalopes. Sorry to laugh at your question, princess, it's just… against their nature to be peaceful, while under the transformation," She deflates indiscernibly. "If there are special circumstances... it's the Miraculous who are allowed outside. We're much better suited for it." She searches him curiously.

"What can you do exactly? Other than making awful puns…what are your powers?"

"Besides super strength, agility, and good looks?" he flexes his muscles and winks at her, "My specialty is destruction."

"Oh," she bites her lip, seeming to be calculating something in her head. "How long did it take you to become a Miraculous?" Chat pauses, struggling to construct a believable lie to answer her. The truth is, his father gave him the cat miraculous as soon as he turned 14, the same day he joined the Creators. A month later, he became akumatized for the first time. Hawkmoth wanted him to be "well-rounded" and stripped him of his Miraculous until his frustration mounted enough to transform him. He still resents it every time he has to be akumatized. Even so, he can appreciate the experiences as he can use them to help Marinette. Obviously, he couldn't let any of this become common knowledge. People would be understandably outraged if they knew he hadn't won his status on merit. It was the same reason his familial ties with Hawkmoth were kept hidden. The blatant favoritism went against everything they taught. Failing to come up with a plausible response after what was probably a suspicious amount of hesitation, he decides to be candid.

"I'd rather not talk about it." She appears disappointed but doesn't push him.

"Then I guess that's all my questions, at the moment. Except…" She fidgets sheepishly, "Is Jagged Stone a member? I saw him in the VIP room upstairs and couldn't help but wonder…"

"Are you a fan?" he exclaims, jumping out of his seat.

"Of course—" He darts off, leaping to the loft where he grabs a life-sized poster of the rock star and sprints down the stairs to present it to her. "Oh. My. God! Chat, you know him? He signed this for you? That's amazing!" she gushes.

"He's one of our top Akumas. We've talked a few times. He told me becoming Guitar Villain is the greatest high he's ever had, with the least hangover," he boasts with relish, "I can introduce you, if you want. But training comes first." He rolls up the poster and stashes it somewhere safe.

"You're right. Let's get started," she agrees. He looks at their surroundings, concluding they won't suit today's lesson.

"Follow me," he instructs, leading her out of his room and further down the sterile hallway. They arrive at a deep purple door engraved with an intricate butterfly design. "We'll need to pass through this room, but…only Akumas and higher are permitted to see it. Close your eyes. I'll guide you through." Her expression is skeptical.

"Alright," she huffs, "but you'd better not let me walk into a pole." Marinette shuts her eyes tightly and clutches his arm with both hands.

"I would never, milady," he reassures dramatically, pulling open the heavy door. Light from the hallway floods the chamber. He walks Mari and himself inside, letting the door fall closed, leaving them in nearly complete darkness. His night vision allows him to navigate them impeccably. He nevertheless proceeds slowly, knowing her temporary blindness makes her steps uneasy. It would be much faster if he could simply carry her, but he wasn't going to push his luck.

The cool air enveloping them makes him acutely aware of Mari's body heat at his side and warming his arm. He feels a shiver run through her. His head turns to her, searching her as they walk. Her face, resolute, clinging to him with her eyes closed… _If I didn't know any better, I'd think she were waiting for a kiss._ The thought amuses him and stirs an emotion he can't quite place.

A startled yelp is all the warning he has before he's being pulled to the floor. He catches himself and manages to tug the tumbling Marinette into his chest. Her eyes open in surprise, pupils dilating and bouncing from place to place, failing to find light. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," she mumbles guiltily.

"How'd you even manage to trip? There's nothing on the floor!" Her eyes narrow in the direction of his voice.

"I'm clumsy, okay? How can you tell if there's nothing on the floor? You can see in this?!"

"It's the perk of having cat eyes. Which, in combination with my catlike reflexes, saved your ass." He lifts her up by the shoulders, berating himself for forgetting about his classmate's legendary klutziness. "Looks like it's going to be the royal treatment for you, princess," he jokes, pulling her into his arms bridal style. She squeaks in surprise but doesn't otherwise protest. His hand covers her eyes as he easily crosses the space, kicking open the next door. He flips a few switches with his elbow and sets her down.

"Was that really necessarily?" she complains, brushing herself off.

"Yes. And you can open your eyes now." The gates are open to them, and the lights illuminate the empty stadium. There is no challenge today, so the arena is quiet but for them. Marinette explores, stopping at cracks in the concrete and scorch marks to investigate the remnants of previous battles.

"This place is huge," she exclaims, craning her neck to look at the seats hundreds of feet above them. "Why have you brought me here?"

"There are two types of preparation to consider when you're trying to get akumatized. Physical training improves your performance in the challenges and can decrease your chances of getting injured. Mental training improves your ease of transformation, and your ability to concentrate on your opponent. I need to test where you are on both areas, so I know where we'll need to put our focus. Let's start with physical," He extends his staff to the length of a sparring stick. He tosses it to her, then beckons her with his hand, "Try and hit me," She catches the metal instrument and studies it.

"Are you sure?" she eyes him dubiously.

"Paw-sitive. Swing at me like I'm trying to steal your purse. I doubt you'll be able to land a hit, anyway," he boasts, "I'm too fast,"

"We'll see about that," Marinette answers the taunt, adjusting her grip on the staff, preparing to strike. She lifts it over her head and brings it down heavily, aiming for the head. The blow never lands, as he catches the end of the rod with one hand.

"Too predictable. Your posture gave you away and left you open. Unless you're going for a long-range attack with it, you should keep your weapon in front of you," he releases the staff allowing her to readjust her hold on it. "Another thing, that strike had no follow-through. I'm glad you don't want to hurt me, but you need to trust that I'll be able to handle it."

"Excuse me for not wanting to give you a concussion."

"I'm Miraculous, remember? Even if you did hit me, I won't be injured easily. And that's only if you can get past my fencing and martial arts skills. Try again, like you mean it,"

Marinette wields the staff like a baseball bat, striking towards his side. He jumps out of its reach, nodding for her to continue. The next swing is for his shoulder, which he ducks under. Gradually, the young woman's hesitation gives way and she bombards Chat with swing after swing, going after him like pinata filled with her favorite sweets. He agilely evades each one, until an abrupt jab to his chest catches him off guard and knocks him onto his rear.

"Ha!" she celebrates, pumping her fist. Her breaths are quick from exertion. "Not so cocky now, are you, kitty?" She extends her hand to help him up. He accepts it, getting back on his feet.

"That was pretty good," he acknowledges encouragingly, "There's no way of knowing what weapon you'll have as an Akuma, if you have one at all, so we'll need to train with more than just this," he adds, reclaiming his staff and putting it away. "And you'll need practice being on the other end of that thing. Defending is harder than it looks, so don't get overconfident just yet." She nods, her breathing beginning to steady. "Now that you're warmed up, let's move on to mental training. Sit down and close your eyes,"

Marinette seats herself cross-legged on the cold concrete, shifting a bit awkwardly. "Couldn't we have done this back on the couches? My legs are going to fall asleep."

"This isn't like any traditional meditation you've encountered. The point isn't to relax or feel comfortable. Quite the opposite. I want you to channel one of your strongest emotions. Focus on a memory, a person, an event. Anything works if it's strong enough. Do you have something in mind?"

"Yes," she confirms. Her fingers are clenched, gripping her knees. Chat gets the urge to probe further, find out what it could be. _Now is not the right time_ , he tells himself. He paces in front of her as he continues.

"Good. Identify everything it makes you feel. Sadness, anger, jealousy, envy, hatred. It can be any and all. It's best if it hasn't been given closure. If it's an old wound, reopen it. Magnify the emotions, let your mind run with it. Don't hold back."

"Imagine everything you're experiencing as a tornado. It ravages through your mind, tearing things apart while uniting others in its whirlwind. It is a force within you. Even when it's raging it's under your control. Visualize it moving towards your chosen focus. Once there, it's fed by your emotion. It grows. More and more of your mind is engulfed by it. It expands until it encompasses your entire being,

"Instead of being destroyed by it, it empowers you. It obeys your will. Eventually, it contracts, the storm coalescing in your center. The energy it contains does not decrease, even as it shrinks. It is small enough to fit inside your palm. It is your weapon, that can be released at your command." Movement in his periphery vision catches his attention. In one of the box seats above them stands Nathalie. Her expectant expression can only mean he's needed elsewhere. After a short pause, he turns back to his pupil.

"When you're ready, you can seal it. Bottle it up and store it on a special shelf, ready to be used again at any moment. I have to go, but I'll be back soon. Wait for me here. Keep meditating." She blinks her eyes open, startled by the abrupt shift in tone. He uses his staff to pole-vault to where Nathalie waits for him before Mari can say anything.

"Hawkmoth has called a meeting of the Miraculous," Nathalie informs him, "Don't keep him waiting." He sighs, moving past the woman and out into the hallway. _I already know what this is going to be about_ , he thinks irately. _Father can't go a full hour without having to know exactly what I'm doing._ _It's like I'm still a kid in his eyes._ Though it's technically an official conference between the members at the top, Hawkmoth habitually uses them to interrogate him, even using Lila's attendance to keep him honest. _At least it shows he cares about me. In his own, micromanaging, backwards way._ He hurries to his father's study, hoping his frustration isn't overtly visible.

The double doors open automatically as he enters the correct password. The other two are already present, Hawkmoth at the helm of his desk, Volpina stretched languidly over a chair and footstool. Of the three Miraculous, she was the only one who appeared detransformed publicly in the headquarters. Her identity was shared proudly to the members. Her openness lends the impression of trustworthiness. Chat wonders if that was her goal.

"Good of you to join us, Chat Noir," Hawkmoth drawls, "I trust you've anticipated the purpose of this gathering."

"I have. I'll take this chance to formally announce I've claimed Marinette Dupain-Cheng as my apprentice,"

"Would you enlighten us as to _why_ , exactly, you've done this," his father insists firmly.

"It's obvious. He wants a pet," Volpina cuts in, "Is the alley cat tired of being ignored in the shadows? You need an underling to tell you nice things and make you feel important?" she asks belittlingly.

"Let him speak," Hawkmoth orders, his eyes concentrated on his son. The full force of his attention leaves Chat Noir the impression what his next words will have consequences. He swallows.

"Marinette is…different. In a good way. Most of the people who join us only care about getting ahead. She genuinely wants to better herself. She's passionate, kind-hearted, and strong. I want to help her succeed."

Lila narrows her eyes, suspecting there's more he isn't telling them. Hawkmoth, however, is unreadable. His face betrays only cold calculation as he reflects on his son's words.

"So be it. I'm pleased that you are taking your responsibilities as a Creator of the Miraculous seriously. So long as it doesn't interfere with your primary duties, you are free to mentor her as you see fit. You claimed this girl does not harbor the same ill intent towards us as her friend, but I still expect updates towards her progress regularly. Any misstep on her part will reflect poorly on you,"

"Thank you, Hawkmoth," Chat expresses, heart warmed by his father's rare approval. Lila appears irritated by this development.

"If he gets an apprentice, I want one too," she declares, standing up out of her chair. "It's only fair."

"Who do you intend to mentor?" his father asks, a glint of amusement in his gaze.

"I'll take the other new girl. The mole,"

"Alya?!" Chat exclaims in surprise.

"You are aware she has already been taught a lesson? Any threat she posed has already been neutralized." Hawkmoth assures. Lila nods.

"I can do one better. Instead of just neutralizing her, I'll convert her. She'll be a true believer in no time," she boasts, one hand on her hip. Chat scoffs. _Alya would never fall for the tricks of a poser like Lila._

"Very well. If she accepts you, you are permitted to apprentice Alya Cesaire. However, the same stipulations apply. You must report on her progress often. If she persists in threatening our organization, there will be serious repercussions. Understand?"

"Yes, master. Thank you," she grins triumphantly.

"Meeting dismissed." Chat merely watches as Lila exits, sending him a snide smile on her way out. After the doors click shut behind her, he turns to his father.

"Do you really trust her with this? She's a snake!" he asks desperately. _We don't see eye to eye on everything, but he's still smart enough to see she's a liar, right?_

"Adrien. It's time you learned an important lesson about trust. It seems you're under the impression that it's a fanciful, even meaningful, bond of confidence. This is folly. When you are as high up as we are, such things are unnecessary. I trust Lila to fulfill her purpose. This is not because she is honest, or at all trustworthy. This is because if she fails me, I will destroy her. She knows this. I know this. That mutual comprehension of absolute authority is the only kind of trust you'll ever need." Chat looks away.

"Father…is that how you trust me?" Hawkmoth appears taken aback by the question. His eyes soften minutely.

"Dark wings fall," he articulates, detransforming to look his child in the eye, unmasked. "Son…if I wished, I could take everything away from you. That is true. But…" he pauses, looking mournful, "If you betrayed me, it would destroy me. For us…trust is mutually assured destruction," he pushes up his glasses and sighs. "I'm sure your mentee is waiting for you. You're dismissed."

* * *

A/N: Correct me if I'm wrong, but we don't get to see Chat or Adrien teaching anything in the show. In my headcanon he'd be a pretty good, patient tutor, even as the sillier Chat Noir. Next chapter we're going to find out how Alya's doing


	7. Chapter 7

Two hours. Alya has been suffering through over two hours of lectures. Maybe if her friend hadn't been whisked off to god knows where, she would have found them interesting. Instead she was trapped. Left in the dark. _Marinette could be in trouble. Hell, she could be dead_ , she reasons darkly. _And I'm stuck here listening to some prattle about philosophy_. Her leg bounces impatiently. Would anyone stop her if she walked out? The inaction is beginning to be unbearable. She tries to calm herself by crafting a plan. It starts with her getting out of this room. If someone asks where she's going, she can just tell them she's looking for the restroom. If she were to get lost while looking for her friend, it would be the perfect excuse. They can't fault her for having a bladder.

"Alya? Alya!" her focus snaps back to the lecturer, who's now calling her name. Standing beside the instructor is Simon. She recognizes him instantaneously as the man who escorted Marinette away. _Oh god. They're coming for me too_. She stands, her body tense. "Your presence has been requested." Her blood runs cold. There'd be no escaping now. _At least I might end up in the same place as Mari_. An odd calmness enfolds her as she joins the tall man and leaves the classroom. She doesn't bother asking questions, she know she won't get any answers. Numb, she barely perceives her surroundings as Simon leads Alya to her fate.

He knocks thrice on a mahogany door. _This is it. End of the line._ Bracing herself for anything, she is still surprised when a friendly woman around her age opens the door to greet them. "Welcome, come in. Thank you for bringing her here Simon, that will be all," the stranger waves goodbye to him, then places a hand on Alya's shoulder, steering her inside lightly. "You must be Alya. It's nice to meet you. I'm Lila. We have much to discuss,"

Lila's chestnut hair frames her lightly tanned face and olive eyes. Her outfit, and the décor of the room they're in, look like something out of a style magazine. Contrasting the grandeur of the upstairs lounge and hallways, the furnishings resemble something that you would find in a regular, if chic, person's home. The pair sit on a beige couch.

While retaining an air of approachability, the brunette's tone becomes concerned as she addresses Alya, "I'm so sorry. I…I know what happened to you. I tried to stop it, but I failed." At the redhead's bewildered expression, she clarifies, "The break-in. When we—the Miraculous—found out you were planning to write about us, I wanted to talk to you. I tried telling the others it was admirable, what you were trying to do. That bravery should have been rewarded, not punished. I told them if I could just talk to you, explain why some things must be kept from the public. You're a smart girl—you'd understand. There was no need for violence," Lila scowls and spits out the last sentence, "But _he_ didn't listen."

"Wait, you're telling me the attack wasn't unanimous? What 'he' are you talking about?" Alya demands, enticed by the unexpected slew of answers presented.

"Chat Noir. He's vicious. Hawkmoth is a wise leader, but he gives Noir too much freedom. I couldn't stop him from attacking your home. But, if you let me," Lila takes the redhead's hands in hers, "I can make sure it never happens again." _Could it really be possible…this whole time_ , Alya marvels, _not everyone was out to get me? I was just being paranoid_. _People are on my side…it's just this Chat Noir that I should worry about._ Relief floods through her as her paranoia is dispelled. There's still danger, but it's no longer around every corner. She can stop flinching at every shadow. The enormity of the burden lifted from her mind overwhelms her with gratitude.

"I can't thank you enough," Alya sniffles, wrapping the other girl into a hug. Lila doesn't miss a beat, patting the redhead's back comfortingly. "What do I need to do?"

"If you accept me, I'll take you on as my apprentice. That way I will be the only one of the Miraculous or Akumas who can influence your experience here. Hawkmoth has the final say, of course. But it's not him, it's Chat Noir we need to worry about. What do you say?" she asks hopefully, pulling away.

"That sounds great and all, but you know an apprenticeship wasn't what I was looking for when I found this place. I'm interested in journalism not…any of this,"

"I completely understand. So far, you've only seen the worst of what we have here. I can't blame you for being reluctant after what Noir did to you. But you should know there's much more we have to offer. This place is about growth, opportunity, networking. I'm no expert in journalism but one of our Akumas, Nadia Chamack, is. I can introduce you, if you like. You know my mentorship will bring you protection and exemption from standard newcomer requirements. But as to what I can offer personally, you might be surprised. I have connections to almost all of France's publishers. Jagged Stone and I are like this," she intertwines her index and middle finger, "he even wrote a song about me. If you aren't interested in moving forward in our organization… we can always just talk during our sessions. I've been told I'm a pretty good conversationalist," Lila smiles coyly.

"You're incredible," Alya blurts out, "I mean all of that—it's off the chain. I would love to meet Nadia, and Jagged. I don't have to sign another contract for this, do I?"

Lila laughs delicately, "Oh, no. Your verbal consent is enough. So?" she leans forward, "Does that mean you accept me?"

"Yes," Alya agrees, still giddy from relief, "I accept you,"

"Great!" Lila exclaims, smiling widely. After a celebratory hug, the brunette's expression returns to concerned. "There's just one problem,"

"What is it?"

"Your friend, Marinette,"

"Oh god, I nearly forgot. Where is she? Is she okay?"

"She isn't hurt, but…it's Noir. He's somehow tricked her into becoming his apprentice. She's with him now. Every second she spends with that menace is dangerous,"

"Damn it! I knew she was in trouble. Can you help her?" Lila shakes her head.

"I can't. Since she's another member's apprentice, I'm not allowed to interfere. But you can," she encourages. "Convince her that Noir's a criminal. If she renounces him, I can protect you both,"

"That might be difficult," Alya sighs, "Marinette is a stubborn girl,"

"You're a very capable woman. I'm confident you'll be able to help her see the truth. They could be finishing up anytime, so I'll let you go to meet her. We can start our sessions tomorrow," she pulls out a pen from her bag and writes her number on the redhead's hand, "Call me if you need anything. I'm here for you," Alya nods and returns her smile. Lila accompanies her back to the nightclub, unlocking doors and making light conversation.

"I'll do my best. Thank you, for everything." She turns away to exit, missing the triumphant smirk spreading across Lila's face.

It takes about ten minutes of waiting next to her car before Marinette shows up, unscathed. "You had me worried sick, girl! What happened? How are you?" Alya is torn between wanting to hug the girl and shake her for getting herself into even more trouble. The two enter the parked vehicle to have a bit of privacy for their discussion.

"I met one of the Miraculous, Chat Noir. He agreed to train me and help me become an Akuma. He's…weird, but he's been a good tutor so far. I'm okay, just exhausted. What about you?"

"I've agreed to be mentored by one of the Miraculous as well. Girl…are you sure you can trust this guy? And since when do you want to be an Akuma? Just yesterday you wanted to be as little a part of this place as possible," Alya interrogates.

"When I found out they weren't just kooks, Alya. They're _superheroes_! Don't you want to be one too?" The redhead folds her arms. "More importantly, who are you being mentored by? How are you sure you can trust _them_?"

"Lila," Alya responds, growing defensive, "Because she's the only person I've met in that goddamn place that's given me answers,"

"Chat's given me answers, too. What have you got against him? You've never even met him." Alya scoffs, rolling her eyes.

"I don't need to. I know he's trouble. C'mon, girl. I'm your best friend. You trust me more that scoundrel, right?" her voice is filled with harsh determination.

"I never said I trusted him. I just met him! But this isn't like you, Alya. You're never so quick to judge. Is there something you're not telling me?"

"Ha! This is rich. Marinette, who hasn't been straight with me for _months_ , is asking me if I'm hiding something," a part of Alya knows she should just admit she'd fibbed and tell Marinette about the break-in, but her temper flares at the hypocrisy of her friend's accusation. She points a condemning finger towards her friend, nearly yelling, "Why don't you tell me what's happening with you? Why did it take my life being in jeopardy for you to spend time with me? Why are you so eager to get involved in this cult's bullshit?"

Marinette is stunned into silence. Her gaze drops, unable to cope with the raw hurt written on Alya's face. _She's right_ , she thinks somberly, _should I tell her_? The righteous fury in Alya's eyes scares her. _If I admit that I've been deceiving her this whole time, will I lose her friendship? I couldn't blame her. I've been horrible._ As Marinette weighs the possibilities, Alya's frustration intensifies.

"Forget it. Let's just go home." She starts the car and takes off towards the bakery. Marinette accepts the scorn without comment. _I deserve this_ , she tells herself. The drive passes in silence. By the time they're parked in front of the bakery, Marinette's made up her mind. _Alya deserves to know the truth…but I can't risk losing her right now. Currently she's just angry, she'll calm down. If I admit to lying for months about something so important… she'd never forgive me. I'm sorry, Alya,_ she whispers mentally, exiting the car wordlessly. She watches as Alya speeds off into the night. Even once the car is out of sight, she watches the road. It's only until she starts shivering from the cold that she goes inside.

Her family has already gone to sleep. Loneliness engulfs her as she walks to her bedroom in the dark. _Am I doing the right thing?_ She selfishly misses confiding in her best friend. Her feelings have been stewing within her without release for so long. She needs to express it, talk it out. Her hands fumble in her pockets, finding a note with Chat's number scribbled on it in ink. Marinette sighs, climbs up to her balcony and guiltily dials the number. _What have I come to?_ She bites her lip as it rings. It goes unanswered. Her emotions are overflowing to the point where she's content to vent to his voicemail.

"Chat. It's me—Marinette. Lila's claimed Alya as her apprentice. I'm nervous. You said she was a bitch…is that in a Chloe way or a dangerous way? Oh, you don't know who Chloe is. God, I hate Chloe. That's beside the point…should I be worried for Alya? She called you 'trouble' and a scoundrel. Told me not to trust you. She wouldn't tell me why. Did you do something to her? To Lila? I'm sorry I'm rambling, it's just…" she bites her lip, "Never mind. This was stupid." She scans her phone for the 'delete message' option but finds none. _Shit_. She hangs up, shaking her head. _It doesn't matter anyway._

Drained, physically and emotionally, Marinette climbs down into her room and gets ready for bed. She tries to sleep, but only succeeds in restlessly tossing and turning for the better part of an hour. Her vain attempts are interrupted by her phone vibrating. She recognizes the number calling as Chat's, and reluctantly answers.

"Hello?"

"I'm here," he replies, his tone anxious.

"Wait, what? You're where?" she uncertainly glances around her bedroom, sitting up.

"On your balcony. I got your message. We need to talk,"

"Excuse me?! How did you even know—" she halts. _I guess I provided my address in the contract, figures he'd know where I live._ "I'm on my way," She scrambles back up to the balcony, where Chat Noir is crouched on the railing. He jumps down, extending a hand to help her out of the trapdoor. She ignores it, getting up and crossing her arms, demanding, "What do you have to say that's so important you have to trespass?"

"Roofs and decks hardly count as trespassing," Marinette quirks an eyebrow, but he continues, "I need to answer your questions. Your voice sounded urgent. Are you…okay?"

"I'll be better when I know Alya's not in trouble. Is she?" He scratches the side of his neck.

"She might be. The situation is…precarious. Lila and I aren't on the best terms, and when I announced your apprenticeship, she got jealous of the attention. It's possible she'd try to sabotage me by getting Alya to turn you against me. I wouldn't put it past her. She's done worse,"

"So…the reason Alya said those things was Lila talking through her? No other reason?"

"Well, not exactly," he looks away sheepishly. "It's possible Lila told her that I carried out the mission. Destruction of personal property tends to foster some negative opinions."

"What are you talking about?" Marinette wonders completely lost.

"The break-in. The map. The laptop," he explains, uncomfortable addressing it. "Did you really not know? She didn't tell you?" Chat joins her in perplexity.

"Tell me _what_?"

"We found out Alya's a mole, joining us only to expose our secrets," she gasps taking a step back, "Hawkmoth demanded actions be taken to prevent this. He ordered me to send her a message, deter her from doing anything she'd regret," He meets her shocked stare. "You didn't know?" she shakes her head, then rushes towards him, glowering.

"What. Did. You. Do? If you hurt her, I swear to god…"

"No! No, I didn't hurt her," his eyes are wide, affronted at the notion. His hands are in the air in surrender. "I just destroyed her laptop. And made a vague puzzle-y threat on her map. Nothing serious. Lila must have informed Alya it was me who carried it out," Baffled, Marinette fluctuates from scowling at him crossly and cursing at the air. She had no idea whether she should be more upset that her mentor threatened her friend, or that Alya had kept it a secret. ' _Lost it in the library_. _Nothing serious.' Can't believe I fell for that._ The bluenette collapses into one of her loungers, head in hands.

"I guess Alya and I deserve each other," she whispers to herself. Chat glances at her curiously. "I'm glad you told me…but don't think you're in the clear, kitty," she glares at him. "What kind of person does that? Breaks into someone's home like it's nothing. She was right to call you 'trouble'!"

"What would you have us do?" he speaks up in his defense, "She threatened all of us! With the information we gave her, she could have done major damage." He crosses the space to her lounger, daring her to challenge his logic. "Deep down, you understand why we did it. If we were exposed to the public, your goals would fall apart," she narrows her eyes at him, "We solved the problem without harming her. It would have been a lot worse. Can you really blame me?" She grapples with the moral quandary.

"It could have been a lot worse," she agrees. "We were worried we'd be killed, if you found out. To be honest, I'm relieved you know already. There's no more waiting for the ax to fall," Marinette scoots up the recliner, gesturing for him to sit on the end. He takes a seat, and for awhile they both watch the traffic below. "I forgive you," she mutters, "Alya might, but I don't blame you. Does that make me a bad person?"

"No," he answers reflexively, "I think you're purr-fect." She lets out a pity laugh and playfully punches his shoulder.

"That was awful. But thank you,"

"Anytime," he mumbles, half-smiling and rubbing his arm where she hit him.

"I should go to bed," she reflects. Chat hums in agreement, but neither of them moves. "What are we going to do about Lila?"

"There's not much we can do. Unless you can convince Alya to ditch her, that is. Which by the sound of it will be difficult," he frowns.

"What if I have it all backwards? Lila could be the saint and you could be the sinner. She could be the most honorable woman in the world, and you could by lying to turn me against her," she muses.

"You don't really believe that, do you?" he questions. She shrugs.

"Is there any way to know for sure?" He strokes his chin thoughtfully.

"She'll show her true colors eventually. She always does, when she gets tired of playing nice. In the meantime, you'll just have to trust me," he offers.

"Hmm. We'll see, Chaton," she responds noncommittally, patting his head between the ears before standing up. He blinks, taken aback by the familiarity. _She must be tired_ , he reckons. "Goodnight. Thank you for answering me," she voices from her trapdoor, descending out of sight.

"Goodnight," he says mostly to the empty air before disappearing into the night.

* * *

A/N: I low-key kind of ship Alya X Lila. It's a total crack ship that probably won't appear in this fic, but it's an interesting concept to me. Am I the only one?


	8. Chapter 8

The next school day was tense. Alya hadn't cooled off, keeping her distance from the bluenette and even going so far as to switch seats in class to avoid her. On any other day she'd guess it were a scheme to get her to sit next to Adrien, but it was clear the redhead's primary goal was to put distance between them. It stung. She'd prefer if Alya yelled at her, releasing her anger and giving them both an opportunity to move on. This cold shoulder approach exasperated her.

She sits on the steps of the school, watching Alya storm off on her own. _Now what_? She asks herself despondently, resting her chin in her hands. The redhead is undoubtedly running off to her new mentor who'd only feed her more lies, pushing them further apart. Marinette has mentor of her own to get to, but her ride just ditched her. _Should I get a taxi?_

"Hey, Marinette," Adrien greets her warmly, standing a few steps below her. "Do you need a ride?"

"Oh! Ah-Adrien. I'm not needing home—er, going home. Right now. I have an appointment. With my…dentist. At La Plume du Paon. Uh—not there, of course, no dentist works in a nightclub, that would be ridiculous!" she giggles awkwardly, struggling through her fib, "It's just in the building next to it. You don't need to go out of your way."

"It's not out of my way at all," he responds genially, "I'm headed to a photoshoot just a block away from your…dentist's office. It's no trouble, I promise." His sincere countenance melts her resistance. She acquiesces, following him to the drop off zone where his driver is waiting. The blonde opens the door for her and she tries, failingly, to contain her blush.

The drive is spotted with awkward attempts at small talk on both sides. Adrien asks if her teeth are okay and she assures him that they are "squeaky white" and "pearly cleans"—the appointment is just a check-up. The foible drives her to stare the hands folded in her lap for the rest of the ride, berating herself for her embarrassing lack of eloquence around her crush. The vehicle parks right in front of La Plume du Paon.

"Is this close enough?" Adrien inquires.

"Yes, thank you so much," she watches her feet as she exits to not make a fool of herself in front of him again. She makes a show of walking towards the neighboring business complex until the car passes the next stoplight, and she swerves to enter the nightclub.

It's only once she's inside the VIP lounge that it dawns on her no one is here to let her downstairs. Nathalie had been the one to do it last time, but since Chat's taken over her training would she need to wait for him? It would be rather tedious if that were the case. Just in case, she sends him a text letting him know she's here. The club is barren and dull at this time of day. _Serves me right for being so early._ Catching up on her homework is looking like the more appealing option when Chat Noir approaches her, slightly out of breath.

"Did you run here, Chat?"

"Only part of the way. Couldn't leave my lady waiting, could I? You seem troubled…are you okay?"

"I feel like I want to hit something," she admits. Being snubbed by Alya all day and fumbling, yet again, in front of her crush left her distraught. The worst part about fighting with your best friend is not being able to talk to them about it. Marinette needs catharsis, some way to release all this pent-up negativity.

"Then you're in luck—today's lesson will be in hand to hand combat. Or should I say hand to paw? You'll get plenty of chances to hit things." At that, she brightens. _A punching bag would be perfect right now._ They head to a gym on the same floor as the entrance to the arena. The room is padded with mats and various weapons hang from the walls. Chat opens a cupboard to retrieve boxing gloves for the bluenette. He is about to hand them to her when he notices her attire is less than ideal for the activity. She notices his hesitation and examines her choice of clothing. It's her usual outfit—pink capris with a floral shirt and light jacket. They aren't breathable or stretchy enough for freedom of movement.

"I can't even _dress_ right today," she groans in vexation.

"Don't worry about it, princess. I'm sure there's some extra sweats laying around here somewhere." He exits briefly and returns with grey sweatpants and a t-shirt. "You can change in the archery range, no one's in there right now. He points to door off the main gym.

"Thank you." She dips into the room, taking a moment to admire the spread of bows available, including an old-fashion wooden longbow. Unconsciously, she brings the clothes to her nose to smell for freshness. _Adrien_. _They smell like Adrien_. It catches her off guard, but she rationalizes the owner of the clothes must use the same laundry detergent. Even so, it delights her, and she hurriedly changes into them. The shirt is decorated with the art from one of Jagged Stone's albums. It's baggy on her, but she likes it anyway. The sweatpants are long in the legs, bunching up at her ankles. Aside from that, they are satisfactory.

Marinette returns to the main gym, carrying her flats in one hand and her previous outfit in the other. "Where should I put these?" Chat turns away from the cupboard he was digging through to look at her. A strange expression crosses his face—a cross between confusion and wonder. At first, she thinks she may have put something on weird. Before she can ask if something's wrong, he answers.

"Your clothes? Just throw them on the floor," he turns back to rummaging through the cabinets, flushing under his mask. "Er—I mean, as long as they're out of the way, it's fine." He clears his throat, and the expression is gone by the time he approaches her with the equipment. Marinette pulls on the puffy boxing gloves, giving the air a few trial jabs. Chat adjusts his target mitts. "Let's warm-up with a bit of aiming practice. I'll move around the targets. Try to hit the mitts and not me."

"Worried I'll knock you on your tail again, kitty?" she teases, rolling her shoulders and bringing up her arms.

"Not with that posture, I'm not. Spread your feet a bit more. Yeah, like that. Bring your left foot forward, like you're ready to lunge. Great." After a few adjustments, Marinette throws a punch. It lands on his left mitt soundly, but Chat Noir shakes his head.

"What? I thought that was pretty good."

"You're throwing from your shoulder. You need to use your entire body weight. Here, let me show you." He moves behind her, holding her forearms and moving them in a proper punching motion. It's Marinette's turn to blush as she feels his chest press against her back. He repeats the jab, alternating between hooks, jabs, and uppercuts so she is familiar with how a good punch feels. He continues offering tips as they go, but she doesn't process them. His breath ruffles the hair around her ear. The closeness short circuits part of her brain. "Did you get all that?" he inquires, circling back around to face her.

"Uh, yeah! Let's go again." Hoping he doesn't notice her lapse in focus, she throws herself back into practice. On her second try, the hit is stronger. The force of it causes her to stumble forward a bit and the blow lands off-center of the target.

"Better," Chat encourages, "Try again." Each jab is calculated before being thrown. Her mentor emphasizes that even when practicing, maintaining correct technique is crucial. The activity requires more control and balance than she'd like, but it's still cathartic. Her mood calls for releasing unbridled fury on an unresisting sandbag, nevertheless, sparring with Chat is an acceptable alternative. The exertion clears her head. She feels herself getting into the rhythm of the training and needing less and less thought for each hit. The tempo of the training is interrupted by another appearance from Nathalie. The woman exchanges a few hushed words with Chat. "I've got to go. I'll be back soon. In the meantime, work on your punches on the heavy bag," he adieus, leaving Marinette alone.

 _This is my chance_ , she thinks, walking up to the black punching bag hanging from the ceiling. _If only my problem were so simple as being caused by a single person. Then I could imagine their face on the bag and beat the hell out of them_. Instead, all she has is complicated relationships and struggles that are partially her own fault. The only thing unambiguously evil plaguing her life right now is her mother's disease. _That…works. It may not be a person, but I can still imagine beating it up._ In her mind's eye, the punching bag shifts into a manifestation of the illness, a pitch-black monster oozing smog. The image riles her, angers her enough to begin battering it, kicking it, punching it. It takes a concerted effort to not spit on it.

At first, the act is empowering. Giving the problem a physical form she can beat on makes it feel more manageable. That's only until it keeps bouncing back. No matter how much she fights against it, it's unharmed, swinging back to its resting state in little time at all. It echoes her situation in reality too accurately. No matter what they throw at the sickness, it resurges. She's powerless to stop it. Her desperation escalates until she exhausts herself fighting against it. _This isn't making me feel better at all_ , she recognizes, wiping the sweat from her brow. _All it's doing is making me more frustrated_.

Marinette's about to call it quits when Chat Noir renters the room. Schooling her expression to reveal less of the raw emotions coursing through her, she notices Chat is upset as well. He looks like someone just sucker punched him in the gut. "What's wrong?" she questions, tone concerned.

"I've got good news and bad news," he begins anxiously. She doesn't respond, urging him to continue. "The good news is…Hawkmoth thinks you're ready to become an Akuma."

"Oh my god, that's amazing! she runs up to him in excitement. "Why aren't you happy? Isn't that a good thing? Wait…what's the bad news?" Her enthusiasm is lessened by fear at her mentor's uncharacteristically downtrodden demeanor.

"He wants you to be akumatized at the next Challenge," Marinette interrupts him with a squeak of excitement. The feelings of helplessness closing in on her dissipates. In no time at all she'll be able to help her mother.

"So soon, too…that's got to be a good sign! Where's the downside?"

"I'm going to be your opponent," he explains gravely. When Marinette's cheeriness doesn't diminish at that information he continues, "That's a _big_ downside, princess. I'm undefeated. Hawkmoth's just getting you to battle me because no current Akumas want to. You should refuse."

" _No way_ am I refusing. This is a great opportunity!" she counters, gesticulating fervently with her arms. "In fact, this is ideal! Hawkmoth probably matched us up because as my mentor, you can train me to know your strengths and weaknesses. It makes perfect sense. As your apprentice, shouldn't I have the best chance of defeating you?"

"You don't get it!" he insists, raising his voice, "I've _hurt_ people, Marinette. Hospitalized them in those challenges. It would only make sense if we'd been training longer than _two days_. The next challenge is in a week, you don't have a chance!"

"I am not backing down, Chat." She grips his shoulders, forcing him to look her in the eye. "I want this. You're not going to hurt me. You're going to teach me how to fight you. It's going to work out." He grits his teeth at her stubbornness, cat ears falling back. "Did…did you just move your ears? You can do that? I thought they were fake!"

"Yes, they can move. Don't change the subject. If you _really_ insist on doing this, you're agreeing to train for it. In the week we have, training is going to be your life. You're going to have to work harder than you ever have." His seriousness makes no dent in her elation. The bluenette merely finds his concern overly pessimistic and a bit endearing. Her concentration is only half on his words anyway as she peers curiously at his ears.

"I know, Chaton. Don't worry about me," her hands move from his shoulders to his ears as her curiosity wins out. _They're fake but he can move them?_ They feel warm under her fingertips. She strokes them, investigating the leathery yet smooth texture. Tension fades into relaxation in Chat's body as her thumbs make little circles on his sensitive ears. "Can you feel this?" He hums meekly in confirmation, leaning into her touch. _It calms him?_ she notes inquisitively, feeling a bit mischievous as she distracts him from his rant. As if sensing her devious intentions, he grabs her wrists and separates them from his ears.

"I'm still not okay with this. It's going to be dangerous," he sighs, letting her wrists fall. "But if it's really what you want…"

"It's really what I want," she assures. Marinette isn't sure if it's the vulnerably in his expression or her desire to convince him of her confidence, but she draws him into a tight hug. He returns the gesture, wrapping his arms around her. It surprises her how warm it is, how rumbly— _Wait…what is that rumbling?_ Chat pulls away before she can identify it. The mischievousness that was in her eyes earlier spread to him. Though Marinette isn't backing down now, he thinks she might change her tune once she has to put her words into action.

"It's time to get back to training," he backs away, retrieving some boxing gloves of his own.

"More? But—" she bits her tongue as she realizes his game. "Alright, let's do it. Bring it on kitty boy." Her muscles protested, but they continued running drills and practicing technique. They only took breaks to get water and snack on granola bars. It was late into the evening when Chat was finally satisfied with her efforts. Marinette sits exhausted on the mat, breaths heavy. _I'm going to sleep well tonight._ Already she could feel fatigue in her limbs. He offers a hand to help her up, and this time she accepts, unsure if her own efforts were enough.

"How are you getting home?" he asks, pulling her to her feet.

"I…don't know. I guess I could walk. Or get a taxi."

"At this time of night? Alone? I don't think so. I'll give you a lift,"

"You have a car?" It isn't unexpected for him to have one. Rather, for some reason the idea of Chat, catsuit and all, driving around Paris amuses her.

"I do. But that's not how I'm getting you home." The bluenette quirks an eyebrow at him.

"Then how are you—eek!" Chat lifts her up, bridal style, into his arms.

Before she can protest, he justifies, "You're tired. I worked you hard today, so the princess doesn't have to walk." As undignified as she finds the situation, she doesn't complain. _I really am exhausted._ He carries her through the hallway and up the elevator, all the way to the roof before she asks him anything else.

"Why the roof? Are you going to send me home on a helicopter?" He grins roguishly.

"No, but we will be flying."

"What do you mean?" she probes, growing concerned as he walks closer to the edge of the building. He shows no sign of stopping. "Wait, wait, wait!" Marinette grips him in terror, and Chat sends them soaring off the roof. A shriek escapes her, not ending until his feet are planted on the top of a neighboring building. "What the hell, Chat!"

"Trust me, milady. It's perfectly safe. Relax, and uh, maybe don't hold my neck so tightly? You're kind of strangling me,"

"I'll strangle you if I want to, kitty, throwing us off of buildings like—" Not waiting for her to finish, he vaults to the next roof. She doesn't scream this time but continues her death grip on Chat until the sixth roof. After that, her fear ebbs and makes room for astonishment. The sensation of falling, soaring, over Paris—it is undeniably exhilarating. Her hold relaxes minutely. By the time they reach her balcony, she's breathless. "That was amazing. And stupid," she smacks Chat's arm after he sets her down. "Couldn't you have given me some warning before jumping off buildings?"

"I told you we were going to fly," he defends himself, still grinning wildly. Unimpressed by his defense, she scoffs but lets it rest.

"Can you help me down to the street? I don't want to explain to my parents how I climbed up to my room without them noticing." Using his extendable staff as a sort of rope, he lowers her down on it until her feet are safely on the ground. _Thank you_ , she mouths to him, smiling and waving farewell, before walking into the bakery.

Her thoughts are only on a shower and her comfy bed, until she spots her father. His wide arms are crossed, and his brows furrowed. "Where have you been, young lady? We've been worried sick about you!" Tom stands and walks over to his daughter. "I called you, I called Alya, I called the school—are you wearing different clothes? Did something happen?" _Oh, shit. I've done it this time. Leave it to bubble-head Marinette to forget her clothes and shoes miles away. My phone's been off this whole time—I didn't even think to check it. Stupid!_

"I'm okay, papa. My phone's just out of battery. I'm sorry to worry you, I was just…at the gym." Once assured of her physical well-being, his worry become stern suspicion.

"The gym? Since when do you go to the gym? That does explain the smell. You need a shower, sweetie. But what's gotten into you? I know you can be forgetful sometimes, but this is beyond that. How could be so reckless? You didn't tell anyone where you were… you're not even wearing shoes?"

"It's…a trend. Barefoot running. It's good for your posture," she fibs, suddenly grateful she'd watched a documentary on the subject. Tom seems to deflate, weariness encompassing him.

"Marinette…you know I love you. I understand it's been hard for you, sacrificing your free time to help us, watching you mother go through this…it's been hard on all of us. I can forgive you running off with Alya a few times, I know you miss your friend. This…this is something else. It's one thing to take a night off, but I haven't seen you for days. Your grandmother is visiting, and you haven't spent any time with her. She's leaving tomorrow, Marinette. She misses you,"

"I know. I'm sorry, papa. I'll do better. There's just a few things I have to take care of—"

"No. Whatever it is—it's not as important as your family. Family comes first, I thought you understood that. It's a busy time in your life…there are many things that deserve your attention, but…there's only one Marinette, and we're counting on her. We need you here."

"You don't get it, I _have_ to—"

"That's enough. You're grounded until you can prove you take your responsibilities here seriously. Now go to your room." _He doesn't get it. I'm doing it all for him, all for my family. I just can't tell him why_ …she's cornered. Defeated, she obeys him, retreating to her room. She showers, trying to wash off the guilt and frustration off with the sweat. _I can't stop now. I'm so close to being able to heal mom._ Once in her pajamas and settled into bed, she gets an epiphany. Inspired by her trip with Chat over the Paris rooftops, the idea fills her with hope. Retrieving her phone, she sends a concise message to Chat: _Change of plans. I can't come to you anymore. Do you do house calls?_

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the wait, I got a bit distracting writing my new story, _Always the Hunter, Never the Prey_. If you like supernatural AUs you'll probably like it.

Full disclosure, everything I know about boxing comes from Wii Sports. If I got something wrong let me know. Marinette wearing some of Adrien's clothes while getting taught how to throw a punch by Chat is one of my favorite mental images ever.


End file.
